


Catching Stars Like Fireflies

by C6H12O6 (killjoycatlady)



Series: ‘catching stars’ (soulmates ‘verse) [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Astronauts, Light Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Past Tense, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25249264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killjoycatlady/pseuds/C6H12O6
Summary: Keiji has waited 25 years for his soul bond to show up, but as luck will have it, his soulmate isn’t even on this planet.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: ‘catching stars’ (soulmates ‘verse) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829257
Comments: 40
Kudos: 230





	Catching Stars Like Fireflies

**Author's Note:**

> I also started this fic in 2018! I finally, finally got around to finishing it. 
> 
> So, disclaimers, I guess: I haven’t watched season four yet, so if anything in this fic contradicts canon...oops?
> 
> I also really did try my best to look up how law school works in Japan, but try as I might, I couldn’t find anything. In the end, I combined my knowledge of American law school with my limited knowledge of Japanese college and hoped that it’s passable.
> 
> I had a lot more fun looking up astronaut stuff and I think I did a much better job with that. Also, I tried my best to check for spelling and grammar errors, but please excuse me if there are any still left.
> 
> With all of that said, please enjoy the story.

Keiji climbed up the stairs to his apartment, with quick steps and arms wrapped around himself to protect from the swirling November chill that swished into the building with every opening of the lobby door. In his usual fashion, he’d forgotten his jacket this morning at home, which was quite unfortunate seeing as Keiji didn’t have much tolerance for the cold.

His neighbor, an elderly lady with flyaway hair, smiled at him, and he greeted her politely before walking up to his end of the hall.

He slid his key into the door and enters the small apartment, calling out a quiet “I’m home” for his roommate Kenma to hear. He couldn’t be sure if Kenma was actually home right then, but Kenma’s classes ended at noon on Thursdays and he had no actual reason to be out.

Keiji headed into the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of tea. He came home everyday after an almost painfully long day at law school and then his internship. He was thankful for Kenma, in that respect, because both of them appreciated quiet evenings to themselves and Keiji didn’t have to deal with someone shattering the little time he gave himself for relaxation.

After moments, the kettle began to whistle, and as Keiji poured the steaming, fragrant liquid (the powder of wild cherry tea was send by Keiji’s mother as a much-appreciated birthday present), he heard a creak of the door and the pad of soft footsteps down the hall. Before Kenma could turn the corner into the main room, Keiji said out loud, “Hello, Kenma-kun.”

“Hey, Keiji,” came the answer. He registered the _flump_ of Kenma dropping down onto the couch, and when he decided that his tea was cool enough that he could safely carry it, Keiji went out to join him, sitting on the arm chair perpendicular to their long, marshmallow-like sofa. Kenma was curled up with his head rested on the armrest, tapping away at his phone, and Keiji didn’t interrupt him, just continued to try sipping his tea without scalding the roof of his mouth.

“Keiji?”

“Hm?” Keiji raised his eyes to look at Kenma, who was now blinking down at his arm.

“Can Kuro come over for dinner?” Kenma waited for his answer with his hand hovering over the pocket of his hoodie.

Keiji bit his lip. Kuroo was Kenma’s boyfriend of almost eight years, and truth be told, Keiji had nothing against him. He’d seen Kuroo so many times in the past two years since Kenma became his roommate that Keiji could almost be convinced into saying that he liked his company. And yet…

“Of course,” he answered. Kenma gave him a quick, pleased smile, before whipping out a red marker and scribbling something quick on his arm.

“Why don’t you just text him?” Keiji asked, watching Kenma with slight amusement.

“He’s probably at the lab,” Kenma said. A familiar, chicken-scratch scrawl scribbled itself onto Kenma’s arm in black ink and Kenma’s smile grew by a fraction. “It’s easier this way.”

Keiji made a noise of assent at the back of his throat. “Will you cook today, if Kuroo-san is coming over?”

Kenma looked like he wanted to protest but he eventually gave in and said, “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Kenma got up and picked up his phone again. He began to shuffle back to his room, and Keiji watched him leave, dragging his finger down the handle of his teacup.

Keiji resisted the urge to let out a loud sigh, and took another sip of tea to occupy his mind. Truth be told, he had no issue with Kuroo being over- after all, Kenma enjoyed it, so why not? But that was precisely Keiji’s _issue._ Kuroo and Kenma had known each other for ages—when they were together, half the time it was practically like they were in their own world. If Keiji allowed himself to be honest with himself, it made his chest ache.

Shaking the thought from his head, Keiji got up and took his last sip of tea. He went to put it into their sink and then made his way to his room, where a large textbook sat on his desk, demanding to be read before Keiji’s next class. Keiji allowed himself a tiny huff of frustration before lifting up the thick tome and settling on his bed to read.

“You’re going to over-spice the curry.”

“Nonsense.”

“You can’t cook.”

“It’s not that different from chemistry, I can totally cook.”

“Your degree won’t help you when it’s too spicy for you, Kuro.”

Keiji set his notebook down and tried not to let his soul leave his body as the third round of bickering made its way through his bedroom door. Kenma still couldn’t be called loud when Kuroo was over, but there was a certain level of comfort that probably came to even the shyest of people when they’ve known their soulmate since they were children.

Keiji tried not to feel bitter about that. It wasn’t their fault that they were literally meant to be together.

Dinner was called about half an hour after that, during which Keiji had to endure listening to another argument (this time about Kenma’s ability to finely dice chili peppers) and Kuroo’s gloating because somehow, he managed to not ruin the curry (Keiji guessed that this was likely the first time).

He left the very comforting confines of his own room and entered the living room, where Kuroo and Kenma were already sitting with the food laid out on the coffee table. Kuroo had an arm draped casually over Kenma’s shoulders, and Kenma leaned into Kuroo’s side with an affection that was clearly second nature to both of them. Keiji wished his chest would stop tightening.

 _Quiet_ , he scolded himself, _Since when did you care so much about these things?_

“’Sup, Akaashi.” Kuroo raised an arm in the air as a lazy greeting and grinned.

“Kuroo-san,” Keiji acknowledged. “You both made dinner.”

“It’s a miracle we didn’t burn the kitchen down,” Kenma deadpanned.

“I can tell,” Keiji said dryly.

“It smells good, though.” Kuroo grinned again—really, did he ever stop doing that—and threw an arm out to display the food on the table. “Indian chicken curry and rice, are you proud?”

“I’ll decide that after I eat, shouldn’t I?” Keiji raised an eyebrow at him and Kuroo’s eyes grew sharp.

“Try it, then.”

“Don’t expect too much,” Kenma said, ducking his head down to peer at his phone.

“Kenma!”

Keiji did try the food, and it actually was quite good, much to Kuroo’s glee. They settled down on the couch with plates on their lap and did their best to eat the foreign food so that there wouldn’t be any leftovers. They bickered over what movie to watch—the bickering primarily conducted by Kuroo and Kenma—and eventually settled on some space documentary that happened to be playing on the TV while they ate.

It was a fairly interesting documentary, if Keiji was someone who was genuinely interested in anti-matter and the destruction of the Earth in a few billion years. He never really planned on paying attention, though, so he didn’t protest and instead focused on the food, which he thoroughly enjoyed eating.

By the end of the documentary, Kuroo had slumped over the armrest of the sofa and was breathing rhythmically, and Kenma had his head rested on Kuroo’s arm, though his eyes were open.

“Is he asleep?” Keiji asked Kenma.

“We should go to bed,” Kenma rasped. “He’s been studying late nights…”

He straightened up and then nudged Kuroo’s arm. “Hey.”

Keiji tried not to chuckle at the practically heartless way Kenma woke Kuroo, with prodding and nudging and hisses of frustration. Eventually, Kuroo straightened up, blinking hard and shoving a hand into his rooster-like hair.

“What?”

“Let’s go to bed.” Kenma tugged on Kuroo’s arm and they got up simultaneously, Kenma guiding a slightly delirious Kuroo around the table and into his bedroom.

Keiji watched them go with a sort of fondness in his heart. He really wasn’t the type of person that allowed sappy romance to get to him, but Kuroo and Kenma’s story could probably be considered heartwarming by anyone. He remembered when Kenma had first told him about it, almost a year after they were first acquainted.

_“We met when I was seven and he was eight,” Kenma had told him. The lines around his mouth went all soft, and Keiji could tell that this story meant something to him._

_“We became close friends, but the bond doesn’t show for a while. We’d been friends for years when it did.”_

_“When did you find out that he was your soulmate?” Keiji asked curiously. It was a matter of interest to him- the usual age for finding your soulmate was between 15-26, and Keiji was irrationally worried that he was reaching the end of the window._

_A soft blush coloured Kenma’s cheeks, and he looked away. “When we were 13,” he had said softly, and immediately a pang of envy hit Keiji._

Keiji was not someone who considered himself “soulmate-crazed”. There were a multitude of services centered around finding your soulmate- types of aromatherapy, soulmate counselors, even fortune tellers- that he refused to go to because he had always been taught that in the end, your soulmate bond showed when it wanted to show. Keiji had other things to focus on, like his education and career.

Still, being surrounded by so many people who had found their match already—being close friends with people who had found their bond before the average age—put some pressure on him.

Keiji liked quiet, he liked his solitude to concentrate, but he never fancied being alone.

As the universe apparently hated him, Keiji’s alarm didn’t bother to go off the next morning. He was awoken by an insistent knock on his door (he kept it locked ever since Kuroo started coming over more frequently) and a rather obnoxiously bright voice saying, “Kenma told me to wake you up because you’re going to be late.”

With that, Keiji’s eyes flew wide open and he thought, _Shit._

He practically leapt out of his bed, with more energy than he probably used in the last 365 mornings combined. He snatched his phone up from his bedside drawer and squinted at the screen, unable to discern what had gone wrong. _Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

There was no time was a shower, so Keiji just splashed some jarringly cold water over his face and stuffed his body through a pair of decent jeans and a shirt, and hoped that he didn’t look too tragic for someone who woke up 15 minutes before the start of class. His campus was one short bus ride away from the apartment, and he prayed to all the gods that it would be there on time.

He snatched the notebooks that he thought he would need for the classes that morning and burst out of the room. He wouldn’t have time to eat anything, but he wondered if Kenma had a last piece of toast that he would spare Keiji.

“Thanks for waking me up,” he gasped once he was in the living room, directing the words at Kenma. “Do you possibly—” He stopped his sentence short. “What.”

Kenma was staring at him as if he had a large fly sitting squat in the middle of his forehead. His eyebrows wrinkled together and his mouth dropped open, just a little bit. Then he turned to Kuroo and said in the most accusatory tone Keiji had ever heard. “Did you do that?”

Kuroo blinked up from the stove, where he was standing (still in last night’s clothes because Kuroo-san was, well, himself) butchering some scrambled eggs that were presumably meant to be eaten. “Do what—” He broke off when he caught site of Keiji’s face. Then he paused, wide-eyed, and clapped a hand over his mouth, muffling the sound of his badly restrained snicker.

“What?” Keiji asked irritably, as Kenma narrowed his eyes at Kuroo.

Kuroo raised his hands in the air. “Hey, I didn’t do it. I’m not _that_ rude. And I was with you the whole night, Kenma, you would have noticed.”

“What?” Keiji said in a uncharacteristically loud voice.

Kenma seemed to take Kuroo’s answer as satisfactory. “Maybe you should look yourself. In the mirror.”

That threw Keiji off and he narrowed his eyes at them. “I was just in the bathroom.”

Kuroo gave him a strange look. “Clearly, you weren’t paying attention.”

Keiji did his best not to storm back into the bathroom, because he really, really didn’t have time for this, the bus was probably set to leave any minute now, and Keiji had never missed a lecture, not even that one time when threw up twice one morning after he let Kuroo bait him into a drinking game the night before-

Keiji stared at his own reflection in the mirror. Stared at his face. Stared at the thin, curling mustache scribbled over his upper lip.

“What,” he said, seething. “The fuck.”

He whirled back outside the bathroom and shot Kuroo a poisonous glare as soon as he was within sight. He snarled, “If this is some idea of a practical-”

“It wasn’t him, Keiji,” Kenma interrupted. His eyes were sympathetic but his gaze was firm, and Keiji knew that what Kenma said, he believed 100%. “He was with me, and he was knocked out the whole night. That, uh.”

He stopped talking awkwardly and glanced over at Kuroo. They exchanged a glance, and Keiji hated that, the childhood friends-lovers thing they did were they interchanged fully formed intelligent thought through a few seconds of eye contact.

“Well,” Kenma continued, his voice sounding, if possible, even more uncomfortable. “It probably. It probably wasn’t you that was drawn on.”

Keiji gaped at him, possibly with a ridiculously bemused expression on his face. Kenma shifted under the weight of his gaze.

“You know what,” Kuroo said suddenly, “I suddenly remembered that I promised to take you out for breakfast.”

Kenma gave Kuroo a look but nodded along with it. Kuroo abandoned the half-burnt eggs and grabbed Kenma’s arm, dragging him out of the apartment with a resounding slam of the door. Kenma gave Keiji a fleeting glance before his face disappeared behind the wood.

Keiji’s fingertips felt numb. He stood, very stiffly, in that same spot for a long moment, Kenma’s last words on replay in his mind. He felt like there was a large weight resting on his chest, making it hard to breathe and constricting his lungs.

It wasn’t possible. Not like this.

He took leaden steps towards the kitchen; his legs felt like they were made of drying clay. He grabbed a stray blue marker that was left on the counter, one of the washable ones that Kenma always carried around with him.

He didn’t realize that he was shaking until the tip of the marker hovered over his arm. What was he meant to write? Out of all the scenarios he had ever envisioned (because yes, he had imagined how this would go multiple times in his head) this was not one of them. He was not prepared for this, because whose first contact with their soulmate was drawing a cartoonish mustache all over their face?

With that thought and the panic of needed to get to his classes on time, Keiji made up his mind.

_WASH YOUR FACE_

He wrote that in big, thick letters across his arm. He willed the universe into listening to him, for once, and hoped that whoever was on the other end was awake and paying attention. He could not go to class looking like this- he couldn’t even cover it up with a mask or scarf, because it would look strange to wear that indoors, and too many of Keiji’s friends were too nosy for their own good.

After a few moments of staring at his arm, Keiji slumped down and allowed his head to hit the counter top. He breathed against the cool surface and decided that the planets were permanently aligned in an unfavourable way, clearly.

Then he felt something, almost like a warm press on his arm, like the phantom sensation of someone ghosting their fingertips over their skin. When Keiji looked at the skin, there was a single mark on the palm of his hand.

**?**

Relief flooded through his stomach, and then was almost immediately overcome by the knot that twisted itself up out of his intestines. What was he meant to say now? There were a whole host of things that a normal person would ask upon finally establishing their soul bond, but at the moment, Keiji only really wanted one thing.

He grabbed a damp washcloth and wiped the previous message off his arm.

_Look at your face. Then wash it._

And then:

_Hurry. I have to go to class._

**Holy shit**

Well, if Keiji felt bad before, at least one of the first things he said to a stranger/his soulmate wasn’t a curse word. And to be fair, it was his soulmate’s fault that Keiji had to start so brusquely.

_Please hurry. I’m late._

There was no reply for a few minutes. Keiji was on the verge of writing something rather rude on his arms just out of spite, and his eye nearly twitched with self-restraint. Then, he felt that same strange sensation, and looked down.

**Done**

Keiji rushed to the bathroom, and, sure enough, his face was free of any humiliating pen drawings. Regardless of the revelation that occurred within the past few minutes, he felt his shoulders drop the tension, and he muttered a curse under his breath.

He was late for his lecture, obviously, but if he hurried, he could get there in time that he wouldn’t miss too much. He grabbed all of his things that he had put down, and hastily scribbled a note on his arm:

_Thanks_

Then he bolted out the apartment and all thoughts of soulmates and connections flew out of his mind, replaced by the image of his professor’s inevitable sour face when Keiji interrupted the lecture to take a seat.

“Um,” Kenma said, that evening, the first time they saw each other after the incident in the morning. “So what happened with…you know.”

Immediately, Keiji’s face flooded with heat. He squirmed in his seat and didn’t make eye contact with Kenma, instead opting to focus his eyes on the word “extradition” in his textbook. “Oh. Uh. Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Kenma repeated, and the way he said it, Keiji knew that he was raising his eyebrow. “Meaning…”

Keiji let out a sigh. “I told him to wash his face.”

“That’s _it_?”

“In my defense,” Keiji said defensively, “I was in a rush. Besides, what was I meant to say?”

He finally gained the guts to look at Kenma, who blinked his large, golden eyes slowly.

“Not that,” Kenma said, and a frown tugged at his lips.

Keiji slumped back into the couch. “What would you know,” he grumbled, “You found yours when you were 13.”

Kenma gave him a look, but didn’t push it.

Keiji almost wished that Kenma had pushed it.

A whole week had gone by since he had discovered his connection to his soulmate, but he still hadn’t made contact with them, and the thought of finally…sending a message? Writing? To them seemed like an increasingly awkward conversation to bring up. He wondered if his soulmate considered him rude for not saying anything again, but to be fair, his soulmate had been just as radio silent ever since.

Kenma had given him a total of three obviously concerned looks over the past seven days, which for Kenma, was an impressively high number, since Kenma was the type to reserve obvious concern only for people who were dying, and Kuroo. Not to say that Kenma didn’t care- he had quietly lectured Keiji more than once for stressing himself out or not eating properly- but he usually masked it with an standoffish air and cool words.

Keiji knew that Kenma wouldn’t bring it up again, though, and it was too much of a strange thing for Keiji to start talking about- the two of them rarely had heartfelt conversations about things like this, and Keiji felt that no matter how much Kenma believed that he should reach out to the person at the other end of the line, he wouldn’t be able to do it.

So Keiji forced any thoughts of soulmates and strangers out of his head and focused on his studies. Midterms would be coming up soon and Keiji couldn’t afford to fall behind on his grades. He wouldn’t let anyone, not even the person who allegedly was meant to be his fated one and only, come between him and good marks.

On the eighth day, Kenma said, “There’s writing on your arm.”

Keiji had his head buried in a book, so it took a glance at Kenma’s expressionless face and another heartbeat for him to whip his gaze down to his right arm, where, sure enough, words were scrawled in a scratchy blue-pen script.

**Hi**

Keiji’s stomach dropped down to the floor. He stared at the characters, his mind running a million miles a second and yet not moving at all, and then looked back up at Kenma.

Kenma gave him his traditional unimpressed look. “You’re strange. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been worried about finding your soulmate, and now that you have them, you don’t want to talk?”

“I have not been…worried about it,” Keiji snapped, feeling discomfort roll in his stomach at the thought of seeming so desperate. “I just didn’t…” He trailed off, not knowing what to say. Didn’t want to be abnormal? Didn’t want to stay alone. _Didn’t want to feel broken?_ said a snide voice at the back of his head.

Kenma pursed his lips. “Answer them.” He got up and grabbed his cereal bar off the counter, and wordlessly padded down the hall and into the room, effectively giving Keiji space to sort out his own thoughts. Kenma really was the best friend, in his own hard-to-comprehend way.

Keiji reached for his own black pen and twirled it in his fingers, feeling like his insides were made out of knots or wriggly, writhing worms. Eventually, he settled for the simplest of replies, and wrote:

_Hello_

There was a full minute’s pause before more scrawl appeared on his arm- Keiji wondered if his soulmate was just as nervous and uncertain as he was. He watched, struck by fascination at the almost careless way his soulmate seemed to make their strokes. He squinted at the characters, which were nearly illegible, and finally made out the words.

**You didn’t talk to me again after the first time**

Straight to the point, apparently. Keiji refused to feel too guilty about it, seeing as if Kenma and Kuroo hadn’t noticed his face that morning, he would have been permanently humiliated by all his classmates.

 _Sorry,_ Keiji wrote, thinking that he might as well be polite about it. _I was busy._ A blatant lie (but not technically untrue), but what was he meant to say?

**That was an embarrassing first meeting wasn’t it**

**Sorry about that, it was my coworker/friend’s idea of a prank. We didn’t know about the bond. Obviously**

Keiji couldn’t hear his soulmate’s tone, but if he had to imagine from the chicken scratch written across his arm, he would guess that the other person was flustered. Could they be flustered? Keiji couldn’t imagine someone being flustered over him.

 _This is really happening,_ he thought to himself, and felt his stomach flutter with something akin to anticipation.

 _It’s alright,_ he wrote.

**And im sorry for making you late to class!!**

Next to the characters was something like a drawing of an unhappy, open-mouthed face, like one of the emoticons on Keiji’s phone. He wondered if it was stupid to feel endeared by someone he didn’t even know the name of.

_It’s ok_

After a few moments, Keiji’s skin tingled with that strange sensation, and when he glanced down, all of his soulmate’s previous words were gone and in their stead stood a single question.

**Should we introduce ourselves?**

Keiji went to the kitchen to wet a napkin and scrub the ink off his arm. When he sat back down, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of apprehension. This was a complete stranger, after all; fate or not, Keiji knew better than to just give out his name.

_Can you go first?_

**Sure!**

**I’m Bokuto Koutarou!**

_Nice to meet you, Bokuto-san_

_I’m Akaashi._ After a brief hesitation, he added, _Keiji_

There was another poorly drawn image of a wide-mouthed emoticon, this one looking more surprised than upset.

**If we’re soulmates, you can call me Koutarou!**

Keiji scrunched his nose up. He might have been waiting for this moment for a long time, but there was no way he could be that comfortable with someone who was still virtually a stranger.

_Perhaps we can save that for when we’re closer._

**Ok!**

**Whatever you want**

**How old are you?**

His soulmate—Bokuto, Keiji corrected mentally—wasn’t very shy about asking questions. Keiji couldn’t deny that he was also curious about Bokuto’s age, though, so he went along with it.

_25_

**Awesome!**

**I’m 26**

Keiji couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Just a year older than him. Keiji hadn’t doubted much that Bokuto-san was within his age range, but it would have been uncomfortable to be paired up with someone five or six years younger than him.

_25_

**Wow that’s awesome, you’re practically my age!**

**I was worried that you would be some old person**

**Its like we’re meant to be**

Keiji frowned at the words, unable to formulate a response.

**(that was a joke)**

Of course Keiji’s soulmate made terrible, corny jokes, and the worst part was that Keiji’s lips twitched upward as he reread that line.

_You’re hilarious, Bokuto-san_

**Thanks**

**Wait that was sarcastic wasn’t it**

**Akaashi** **☹**

A sad face. Was Bokuto truly older than Keiji? It was hard to believe, and yet, he couldn’t deny the amusement that bubbled up inside him.

“You’re smiling,” said Kenma’s voice, and Keiji started, drawing his arm close to his chest on reflex.

Kenma raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s nothing,” Keiji stated calmly.

Kenma gave him a small shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with being happy.” He turned away and began rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, probably for another snack.

Keiji hunched himself over his arm once more, reading the next line of characters crammed into the space near his wrist.

**What are you doing right now?**

He wiped off all of his previous ink and watched as Bokuto’s writing cleared away, too. He grabbed his pen and began to write.

_I’m doing homework for a class of mine_

**Oh!! That’s right, you’re a student!**

**Sorry for interrupting your work**

**I kind of have free time now I shouldn’t have assumed that you’d have time too**

Bokuto wrote incredibly fast, Keiji noted, which explained why his handwriting was so abysmal.

_It’s fine_

**I’ll go now! I don’t want to bother you**

_You weren’t a bother, but thank you for your consideration, Bokuto-san_

_I’ll be sure to write to you as soon as possible_

**Good luck studying!**

_It was nice to talk to you, Bokuto-san_

Keiji finally returned his attention back to his textbook, wondering if he was imagining the way his fingertips tingled. It was a sensation that was new to him, but after 25 years of missing just that, he couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

“Tell me about the lucky guy!” Kuroo grinned crookedly, lounging on Keiji’s couch with one hand on the backrest and the other twirling a lock of Kenma’s hair.

“Why did you bring him over to interrogate me, again?” Keiji stared accusingly at Kenma, who tapped away at his PSP as if he hadn’t just invited unnecessary questions and teasing remarks into Keiji’s life without any sort of consent.

Kenma didn’t even spare him a glance. “I didn’t tell him anything. It’s not my fault that you didn’t wipe off the writing.”

“Aw, Akaashi, you sap.” Kuroo’s grin, if possible, grew wider and sharper, and he reached out with one lanky leg and nudged Keiji’s foot.

Keiji resisted the overwhelming urge to do something undignified, like kick back. He shot Kuroo a vicious glare that Kuroo easily interpreted as “not very serious”.

“If anything, I’m curious, too.” Kenma peaked up at Keiji through his long hair and his golden eyes flashed.

Kenma was evil. Really.

Keiji let out a heavy sigh of defeat and curled up tighter on his armchair, wondering why his heart started beating half a step quicker.

“His name is Bokuto Koutarou and he’s 26,” he said monotonously, because there was no point trying to beat around the bush. Kuroo and Kenma were both too good at calling bullshit, damn that pair.

“Oho? Why does that name sound familiar? Was he nice?” Kuroo still had that horrible smile painted on his face, as he bombarded Keiji with questions, but Keiji could see the sincerity in his eyes.

Keiji shrugged. “I guess.”

“Give us details!”

“I don’t know,” Keiji said, feeling like a cat with its hackles rising. “I didn’t talk to him very long.”

“Kuroo,” Kenma interrupted, “Leave him alone.”

Kuroo huffed but complied, and instead rolled over to the right so that Kenma perfectly slotted into his side. The bright colours from Kenma’s game flickered up onto both of their faces, and they looked perfectly content to just exist there, side by side. Keiji still felt that tug of longing that was ever-present around those two, but this time, he felt a spark of hope glowing up just beside it. 

Even though they had broken the ice, so to speak, when they first talked, Keiji didn’t initiate any sort of conversation for two days. He simply had no idea what to say. Did he ask questions? Did he just start talking about the happenings in his life.

Eventually, though, Bokuto seemed to grow impatient of waiting for Keiji, and Keiji woke up on the Sunday morning with words written onto his arm. He didn’t know when during the night they were written, and he hoped that it wasn’t too long ago.

**Akaashi!**

**It’s morning, right?**

**What are you doing?**

Keiji found his hand drifting over to a marker on his nightstand before he even considered rolling out of bed.

_Good morning, Bokuto-san_

**You’re awake!!**

**What time is it there?**

Keiji paused and then glanced at the analog clock that sat underneath his lamp. The neon-green numbers flashed _11:47_ a.m. and he briefly wondered if Bokuto wasn’t in Japan at the moment, although he clearly spoke the language.

_Around noon_

_It’s a Sunday, so I don’t have class or my internship_

**That’s awesome!**

**What do you do on Sundays?**

_Usually catch up on homework._

Keiji finally mustered up the motivation to slide out of his rumpled bedsheets and trudge into the bathroom. In the midst of brushing his teeth and washing the ink off his skin, he noticed words form on his arm.

**Akaashi!**

**It’s a Sunday, you should have fun**

When he left the bathroom and headed for the kitchen, he wrote his reply:

_I need to study_

**Just go out for a little while** **☹**

**Too much studying is bad for you!**

Keiji nearly laughed at that and caught himself just in time, which made him wonder what exactly he found so funny. He wandered into the kitchen and found a blue post-it stuck to the fridge, with Kenma’s cramped handwriting on it.

@ Kuroo’s, don’t know for how long. 

He opened the fridge and grabbed a contained of strawberry yoghurt, which sat by itself next to a quarter head of cabbage and some leftover rice (the rest of the fridge was empty). He took a banana from the counter, and went to sit down on the couch.

_That may be true_

_I’ll see if I can spare some time_

He fumbled with the yogurt and licked the underside of the wrapper, feeling like a child.

**What are you doing now, Akaashi?**

Involuntarily, a smile tugged at Keiji’s lips. He set down the yogurt and began to write.

_You’re very interested in what I do, Bokuto-san_

**Well, yeah!**

**You’re my soulmate, I want to get to know you**

**That’s okay, right?**

_Of course_

_I want to get to know you, too, Bokuto-san_

**So… what are you up to?**

With a spoonful of yogurt now in his mouth, Keiji replied.

_I’m eating breakfast_

_How about you?_

**I just finished some of my work**

**And I’m being pestered by one of my friends**

_Is this the same friend that drew on your face?_

**How did you guess (sarcasm)**

**He’s can be really annoying**

**But he’s smart and I trust him I guess**

Before Keiji could ask what exactly Bokuto trusted his friend with, Bokuto wrote:

**Tell me about your friends! I’m sick of constantly seeing my annoying friends! -.-**

This, at least, was a subject that Keiji wasn’t unwilling to talk about.

 _Well,_ Keiji wrote. There was a strange feeling in his chest, of having someone so earnestly ask about information about him as if Bokuto was just interested in who Keiji was.

_I have a few friends that I know from college_

_My closest friend is probably Kenma_

**He sounds cool!**

Keiji actually did laugh out loud, this time. He couldn’t help but admire, maybe even envy, Bokuto’s enthusiasm.

_You don’t even know him, Bokuto-san_

**Yeah, but he’s your friend, so he’s probably cool, right?**

_He’s pretty quiet and really likes video games, but he’s understanding even if he’s not always social._

**Oh**

_Is something the matter, Bokuto-san?_

**Well, I just feel like he wouldn’t like me!**

**Some people find me annoying**

**I’m kind of loud and all over the place.**

Keiji’s lips twitched downwards. He didn’t know what to say—it would be a lie to say Kenma would definitely get along him, because Kenma was very picky with his social circle. But his chest ached at the blurry mental image of some faceless person making snide comments on Bokuto’s behaviour.

_You’re not annoying._

_I think you’re very likable, Bokuto-san._

**Really?!**

**You think I’m likeable?**

Keiji wondered why his heart clenched painfully when he saw Bokuto’s disbelieving enthusiasm at something as simple as “you are likeable”.

_Why wouldn’t you be?_

**I think you’re likeable, too, Akaashi!!**

_People think Kenma can be annoying with how quiet he is. I don’t think he’d judge you._ At least, Keiji could hope not.

**I want to meet him!**

**I want him to like me.**

Keiji’s pulse started running a little quicker. He stared at the blue scrawl on his arm, the smudged corners and imperfect strokes that decorated his skin like tattoos. Right now, Bokuto was nothing more than the writing on his arm, a person cased inside messy characters and exclamation points. _Meet him._

One day, soon, this would change. The fault line separating Keiji’s world from Bokuto’s would converge until it narrowed to nothing. Bokuto would come into his life with a physical presence, his gravity warping Keiji’s world, and he was supposed to settle there. Forever.

He thought about Kuroo and Kenma, the way they orbited each other like it was the most natural thing in the world, the way they slotted together like two gears, cogs turning in a joint effort to move through life. He felt something swoop underneath him and slumped against the couch. The phantom touch of Bokuto writing tickled his wrist, but his mind was somersaulting too dizzily for him to check and answer.

He needed to think.

“No. Run that by me again,” Kenma demanded.

“I’m just—” Keiji set the instant ramen down, flapping a hand to waft away steam. “It just hit me, you know?”

“No.” Kenma sounded epically confused. “He’s your soulmate, the whole point is for you to be together.”

Keiji stabbed his chopsticks through the ramen. He licked his lips, looked at his food, and looked at Kenma. “It’ll just change everything. It hasn’t yet, but it will. It could.”

“And _that’s_ why you’re worried?” Kenma finished with disbelief radiating through his voice.

“Don’t tell me that you wouldn’t worry about the person you’re meant to—” Keiji cut himself off, not about the say the phrase ‘ _meant to fall in love with’_ so openly, even around Kenma. “The person you’re fated to, not fitting into your life? What if we just don’t—” Keiji waved his hands in the air “Fit with each other?”

Kenma stayed quiet, and Keiji could practically see the gears turning in his head as he carefully picked his words. Finally, he said rather bluntly, “I think you’re being ridiculous.”

“Excuse me?”

“Or paranoid,” Kenma amended. He narrowed his eyes at Keiji. “Pretty sure that would defy the laws of soulmates.”

“It’s happened.” Keiji poked at his noodles moodily, nudging a curl of egg around.

Kenma leveled him with a flat stare. “You’ve spoken to him, and it’s pretty obvious that you get along.”

“I just-” Keiji broke off, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands. “I don’t want to meet him one day and feel something else. Or for him to not like me, or—or find me boring.”

“And there’s no reason for that to happen,” Kenma argued. He pushed his laptop away from him, which almost scared Keiji, because it meant that Kenma was dead-serious and dead set on getting Keiji to listen.

“Keiji, if you like talking to him now, you’re not going to change your mind suddenly when you see him. Take it slow. Get to know him. Stop overthinking. And stop—stop _leaving him on read_ , for God’s sake.”

Keiji closed his mouth, chagrined, because Kenma was right in every way possible. There was no way he could rebut what he was just told, which, as a law student, might have been a concerning sign.

“When did you get so wise?” he settled for asking.

Kenma’s lips almost twitched up in a smile. “Years of being around people who need it. Keiji, if people like Shouyou can be one of my best friends, then Bokuto—who the universe literally _chose_ for you—can be your soulmate.”

Keiji thought back to the short, bright kid that was the embodiment of the polar opposite of Kenma, and hummed in agreement. He could feel the guilt simmering underneath his skin, and wondered if that was the reason that he felt an itch to write to Bokuto right that instant.

He silently excused himself from the room and went to his bedroom. He searched his desk for the blue non-toxic marker that he stole from Kenma and began to write.

_Bokuto-san_

He decided to get a head start on his homework as he waited for a reply and sat on his bed as he powered on his laptop.

**Akaashi!**

**What’s up?**

_Are you free?_

**I think I’m going to sleep soon but we can talk!**

_Tell me about your friends?_

Keiji wasn’t a superb conversationalist; he didn’t like to indulge people without reason, and he didn’t care for talking more than necessary, but there was something inside him that made him want to ask Bokuto about this, made him want to know these details that weren’t directly relevant to Keiji’s life.

**Really?**

_I would love to learn more about your life_

**Well**

And that was when Keiji discovered that Bokuto could _talk_ , as long as he knew that Keiji was listening. Within a span of about ten minutes, Keiji learned about one of Bokuto’s “closest, bestest friends”, Oikawa, who was “the most infuriating person in the world and yet everyone loves him?” and about one of his “favourite colleagues, Kiyoko-san!” who was very quiet but actually listened to Bokuto, and that Bokuto knew from personal experience that she had met “guys way worse” than him, “trust me, Akaashi!”

And Keiji was always listening.

Finally, Bokuto had to retreat to bed, and Keiji let him go with a hidden twinge of disappointment. He went to bed, too, not long after that, and until he fell asleep, he wasn’t able to push down the warm, fluttery feeling that glowed in his stomach.

Over the next few days, Keiji came to expect short messages from Bokuto at various points of the day. Each one brought a smile to his lips, and he replied to every single one, without fail.

**Akaashi, good morning!**

**Oikawa is so mean, Akaashi, get him to stop**

**Hah! I got him back**

**Akaashi I’m bored**

A new presence had come into Keiji’s life. The sloppy writing on Keiji’s arm was ever present, like the faint freckles on Keiji’s skin, and yet they didn’t fade into the background of his life; he treasured them like they were rubies. Bokuto slotted into his life, just like Kenma did, or Kuroo, or any of Keiji’s friends from school, except this was different. With Bokuto, it felt like Keiji was filling up the cracks in his life in which something had always been missing.

_Good morning, Bokuto-san_

_I’m sure you can handle it, Bokuto-san_

_Congratulations, Bokuto-san_

_Please feel entertained soon, Bokuto-san_

“You seem brighter,” Kuroo observed, as he dunked a French fry into his milkshake. Kenma, whose legs Kuroo was lounging on, wrinkled his nose. "Bokuto-kun treating you well?" 

“I don’t need my soulmate to be happy,” Keiji countered, stubborn to maintain that he never needed to find Bokuto. Keiji didn’t know whether he believed himself or not; it was just too soon to tell.

“When are you two going to meet?” Kuroo asked, instead of entertaining Keiji’s words. He reached an arm back and offered Kenma a French fry. Kenma gave him a look but accepted the snack.

“Meet?” Keiji frowned back at him. “I haven’t thought to…”

“Well, you may as well.” Kuroo pointed a French fry at him. “Might as well get to know him in person.”

Keiji stared at the spot just above Kuroo’s shoulder. “Maybe,” he said finally.

“Don’t pressure yourself,” Kenma said quietly. “If you don’t want to then take your time.”

Did Keiji want to meet Bokuto? He couldn’t deny the affection he felt towards his soulmate, but it was such a big _thing_ that Keiji felt a thousand butterflies erupt in his stomach at the mere thought.

That night, as he got ready for bed, he wrote out a message on his arm.

_Bokuto-san, if I may ask_

_Where do you live?_

He wasn’t expecting a reply immediately, but one came just a few moments after.

**Why?**

Keiji frowned. It wasn’t like Bokuto, from what Keiji had gathered, to hold back information and question it.

_Just out of curiosity_

**Oh**

A reply didn’t come for almost a minute. Keiji was beginning to worry when Bokuto started to write back.

**I live in Chofu. Tokyo**

Keiji stared down at the word “Chofu”, unable to comprehend this stroke of luck. An hour-long train ride would take him there.

**Akaashi?**

_I live in Minato_

_That’s not too far from here_

**Oh**

Keiji wondered if it was too early in…whatever they had, to prod at Bokuto’s feelings and ask if he was alright.

_Bokuto-san, are you okay?_

**I’m fine Akaashi!**

**Don’t you need to sleep now? Don’t let me keep you up**

Keiji couldn’t get rid of the twisting feeling in his stomach, but he felt that it would be useless to press further. He couldn’t help the uneasy swoop of his gut when he realized just how much he didn’t know Bokuto- there were just some things that you couldn’t learn about a person from writing on your arm.

_Goodnight, Bokuto-san_

Keiji went to bed, trying his best to ignore the tightness of his stomach and the fitful sleep that plagued him all night long.

_Bokuto-san,_ he wrote a few days later, after he wrestled with his own courage and realized that maybe he _had_ been waiting for this for years upon years and if anyone should take the initiative, he would. _I don’t want to sound too forceful_

_But do you think there’s a chance we could meet soon?_

He held his breath but didn’t expect a reply. It was during these hours, the afternoon time when everyone was out and about with their business, that Bokuto’s messages came slower.

Except, Bokuto didn’t say anything until that night. And he didn’t say anything the morning after, when Keiji had woken up for the first time in weeks without scratchy writing on his arm.

He went through his day like usual, trying to push the nagging concern to the back of his mind. There had to be a valid reason why Bokuto wasn’t answering- perhaps he was just busy. He decided to wait until the next day before reaching out again.

As it turned out, that wasn’t necessary. He was just reaching for the switch on his lamp, about to turn off the lights and fall asleep, when he saw the beginnings of a stroke on his arm, scrawled in thin, blue ink.

**About that**

Keiji frowned, but wasted no time in leaping off his bed to grab the indigo marker from his desk.

_Bokuto-san?_

**I don’t think**

There was a pause. Keiji felt like his breath was trapped in his lungs.

**that we can**

_I see. Okay._

Keiji’s jaw clenched, and he inhaled slowly, slowly, not able to dispel the strange emotions that had started to swirl up inside him.

**It’s not that I don’t want to**

**Because I really, really want to be able to meet you, Akaashi**

_It’s alright, Bokuto-san,_ Keiji wrote, although an internal voice said that it really, really wasn’t.

**I just can’t travel there right now**

Half of Keiji wanted to shut this conversation down right then, and maybe shove his face into a pillow so that he could sleep and not deal with the burning disappointment in his stomach. The other half was desperately curious, and after a brief internal battle, the more inquisitive part of him won.

_Is it ok if I ask why, Bokuto-san?_

_Because you did say you lived in Chofu_

**I do!**

**I’m just not going to be there for a while because of work**

_What do you do for work? I don’t think I’ve ever asked._

**Oh**

**Well**

**I’m an astronaut**

**I’m sort of in space right now**

Keiji’s heart dropped down to somewhere around his navel. _Space,_ he thought faintly. His soulmate wasn’t out of Japan, no, he was literally not on this planet, because he was in _space._

Keiji had to suppress a bitter laugh at that, because of course this would happen. Of course, it would be he, Akaashi Keiji, who would find his soulmate when they were in _space_.

**Akaashi?**

_How long will you be in space?_

**I’ll land in October next year**

Keiji felt his fingers go numb. That meant that it would be a whole eleven months until he could even consider the thought of seeing Bokuto in real life. Almost a whole year.

**Akaashi?**

**I’m sorry**

_It’s not your fault, Bokuto-san_

_It’s okay_

_I need to sleep. Goodnight_

**Still**

**Goodnight**

Keiji flung the marker away from him and burrowed him elf underneath the covers, trying to pretend like he didn’t have to blink water out of his eyes.

“Keiji.”

Keiji stayed still, hoping that Kenma would think that he was still asleep.

“Keiji, I know you’re awake. Get up, you have class in an hour.”

“So?” Keiji’s voice was hoarse, and he winced into his pillow. “I have time.”

“It’s noon. Why are you still in bed?”

When Keiji didn’t bother to reply, Kenma said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he answered, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Don’t bullshit me, Keiji.”

Keiji froze at Kenma’s sharp tone. Kenma was prone to irritation, but he rarely ever got so worked up that his voice sounded like it was made of flint. Kenma never got so emotive, not when he was angry, so Keiji knew that it was something else: worry.

He didn’t have it in him to continue acting up when he knew Kenma was concerned. He lifted his head off the pillow and ran a hand over his face, wondering how disheveled he looked. Kenma was watching him steadily, seemingly calm, but with a slight wrinkle in his brow that gave him away.

“Why,” Keiji said, trying to keep his voice level. “Couldn’t I have had it like you, Kenma? Why couldn’t I have known my soulmate since I was a kid?”

This seemed to only further alarm Kenma. “What are you…”

“My soulmate, Kenma.” He let out a mirthless half-laugh. “He’s in space.”

Kenma looked at him as if Keiji had sprouted antlers. “What?”

“He’s an astronaut.” Keiji stared at his hands. “He’s in space.”

Kenma’s eyes widened, marginally. “Oh, wow. Oh, Keiji…”

“I know,” Keiji said, and then was horrified when a sound like a sob erupted from his chest. “It's not that big of a deal, but it's just...I worried I wouldn’t have a soulmate for so long, and now…”

Kenma inched forward until he was on Keiji’s bed, and he reached a hand out to grasp at Keiji’s wrist. The pressure was comforting, grounding, and Keiji ran a hand over his face once again, wiping off any wetness that lingered.

“It’ll be okay, you know,” Kenma said quietly. “Even if you can’t physically be together, your bodies are connected to each other.”

Keiji nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak, and his chest was already burning with discomfort from breaking down like this in front of Kenma.

“If you want,” Kenma continued, “I can stay. I was going to go—”

“No, it’s okay,” Keiji interrupted, “You had that thing with Kuroo-san, right? Go. Really.” His heart spiked with pain, but just because he couldn’t be with his soulmate, didn’t mean that no one else could.

Kenma bit down on the corner of his lip, and his eyes drifted over Keiji’s face, probably assessing if he really would be okay. But Keiji stared back, determined to prove that he could handle it.

Eventually, Kenma nodded, and let go of Keiji to slide off the bed. Before he left, he looked back, and said, “You can still talk to him, okay?”

Keiji nodded, and Kenma stepped out of the room, silently closing the door behind him. Then, Keiji flopped back down onto his blankets, and didn’t bother to move for the next half hour.

**If you want, I can call you**

Keiji paused, with the tip of his marker hovering over his skin.

_What?_

**Only if you’re okay with it, obviously!**

**I can call you from the phone we have on the ISS.**

Keiji felt a thrill in his heart. He would be able to call Bokuto. He could hear him, hear his voice, and if they couldn’t meet, that had to be the next best thing.

_Really?_

**Yeah!**

**I would have done it before but I’ve been busy the past few weeks and Oikawa has been hogging it**

_If you’re okay with it…_

**Why wouldn’t I be?**

_XXX-XXX-XXXX_

_My number_

There was no reply. Keiji was about to write out a ‘Bokuto-san, are you here?’ before his cellphone began buzzing frantically. He reached towards it and stared down at the unknown number flashing on the screen. He had to be dreaming. He pressed the “Answer Call” button and held the device to his ear.

“Hello?” he said into the phone, and embarrassingly, his voice came out as a half-whisper. “This is Akaashi Keiji.”

There was a pause. Then, a grainy, far-away voice spoke from the other line. “Akaashi? Oh my god, Akaashi?”

“Bokuto-san?” he answered, hardly daring to believe.

A resounding laugh came through the speaker of his phone, and wow, Keiji was _enamoured._ “Oh, my god! It’s you, I can hear you!”

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji repeated, at a loss for what to say. “I can hear you too.”

“Akaashi.” Bokuto’s voice was…not like anything Keiji had expected, and yet everything he had ever wanted. It was deep but not gravelly, intense but not forceful, and Keiji felt himself hang onto every word Bokuto said.

“Akaashi, you have such a pretty voice!”

Warmth flushed through Keiji’s cheeks, and he buried his face in the hand that wasn’t clutching the cellphone like a lifeline. “Bokuto-san,” he said, trying to keep his voice level.

“It’s true! Say something!”

“Oh, well…” Keiji pinched the bridge of his nose, and wondered just how much Bokuto could push his limits for embarrassing things that could be said. “You have a nice voice, too, Bokuto-san.”

There was no response from the other side. Keiji shifted. “Hello?”

“Oh my god, Akaashi.” Bokuto’s voice sounded strained. Keiji wished that there wasn’t thousands of miles of space between them, or at least that the line was a bit clearer- he felt like he was listening to Bokuto with a filter placed between them.

“Oh my god, don’t just say those things, I don’t think my heart can take it.”

Keiji felt a smile twitch at his lips. “Really? But it’s true.”

“Oh my god,” Bokuto repeated for the umpteenth time. “I can’t believe you’re real. I was so scared I’d never get the bond, I was _aaalllways_ writing on my arm and no one ever wrote back.”

“I worried about that as well,” Keiji admitted. He curled his legs underneath him at the side of the bed and leaned back into the headboard. “Although I firmly believe that you don’t need a soulmate for a fulfilling life.” When Keiji was in college there had been a movement that birthed dozens of articles on divorced soulmates, non-soulmate couples in happy marriages, single people who never committed to knowing their soulmate. It had comforted Keiji, sort of, except for the realization that he’d never dive into the dating scene amidst a tumult of insecurity and impatience.

Static and a series of harsh cracks muffled the audio. As it receded, Bokuto’s voice filtered through. “But you’re glad to find yours?” His question carried the dip of uncertainty.

“Of course, Bokuto-san.” Keiji tried to project reassurance, but he hardly ever wavered from the controlled level he spoke in, so he could only hope to the universe which positioned their fates like this that Bokuto would understand. “It’s a relief. And I enjoy your company, despite the distance between us.”

“I have the coolest job in the world but talking to you is more fun than all of that,” Bokuto said, and Keiji choked on an air bubble. “Really! I only have two other people here for company.” There was a moment of silence, except for the grit of interference. “When I’m talking to you it sometimes feels like you’re right here. So I’m glad you’re there.”

“I feel the same,” Keiji told him, although the words stuck to the back of his throat. Vulnerability was not his strong suit or something he ever planned on being comfortable with. “I don’t have many friends, to be frank.”

“Why? You’re awesome, Akaashi!” Bokuto sounded genuinely perplexed and Keiji nearly laughed out loud, though he caught himself in time. Not a mocking laugh, no, Keiji could never. He was unused to how upfront Bokuto was, how he seemed genuine in every word regardless of how complimentary or mundane.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san. That means a lot to me.”

“What are you doing right now?” In the background, there were noises of shifting and scraping. Keiji wondered if he should be concerned.

Keiji looked at the textbook nestled in his lap. “Readings for class.”

“On what?”

“Generally speaking? The use of trusts for estate planning.” Keiji scratched behind his ear and tried not to launch into an explanation to defer Bokuto’s judgement. He was pretty sure that trust law didn’t hold a candle to whatever astronauts did in _space_.

“Oh. That sounds…” Bokuto’s pause was less thoughtful and more nonplussed. “Fun?”

“It’s not a subject that people find interesting.” Keiji pushed the textbook off himself so he could move into a more comfortable position. “Including me, for that matter.”

“What do you want to do, then?” Bokuto’s voice brightened as he steered back into more comfortable conversation topics. Keiji was perfectly happy with this change.

“International law, maybe. I’m not sure, yet, but I like it best.” Frankly speaking, the prospect was terrifying, but the challenge sent a shiver of anticipation down to Keiji’s toes. “What about you, Bokuto-san? What do you do, in, uh, space?”

Saying it still sounded ludicrous to Keiji; astronauts were the stuff of nine-year-olds’ fantasies, a reality as far away as the stars were to the Earth. It didn’t seem like something a real person could just _do_. He thought that the space thing would only hit once he saw Bokuto in the flesh, and refused to contemplate how long it would be till then. 

Luckily, he had his distraction.

“I’m a flight engineer!” Bokuto exclaimed. “It’s the best job in the world, I can’t believe I’m here—sometimes I think I could never be good enough, how did I end up here?”

“You’re good enough.” Keiji surprised himself with the firmness of his tone. “If you’re there, you earned it—you’re good enough.”

Keiji had opened the floodgates, and Bokuto launched into a spiel about his career, a facet of his life he was clearly and rightfully prideful about; even if some words came across as boastful, Keiji could imagine that there was some merit behind them, and Bokuto expressed an equal amount of bashfulness that mellowed out the sentiment. It was fascinating despite the fact that he couldn’t decipher Bokuto’s jargon, and admittedly he never bothered to ask—he had no desire to break up Bokuto’s flow, and he wasn’t fool enough to deny that for the time being, it was more than enough to just languidly sit there and let Bokuto’s orotund voice and his radiant enthusiasm drown everything else out.

Keiji was a horrible texter and brevity was his modus operandi, but he did try to write to Bokuto whenever he could. However, there were many days when they were busy, and conversations, if any, were kept short. Worse were the days when only Bokuto was busy and Keiji was left to his thoughts.

After the first call, they had fallen into the habit of calling each other biweekly, which quickly evolved into weekly. Keiji came to know of many details of Bokuto’s life: he didn’t like tomatoes, he _did_ like shrimp, he could do a handstand pretty well for a guy with no gymnastics experience. He found himself revealing tiny, trivial details to Bokuto as well: his unease of the open ocean, his inclination towards spicy foods, his inability to sing on-key. Bokuto’s exuberant questions made it seem as if these little facts actually mattered. 

“I knew I had seen him somewhere,” Kuroo said in lieu of greeting.

Keiji fixed Kenma with a stare. “Did you give him a key to this place?”

Kenma ducked his head, presumably to hide the sheepish expression that was given away by his voice. “Sorry. I wanted to make a spare and I gave it to him for safe keeping.” He spoke those last words pointedly, while Kuroo, unabashed, squeezed onto the couch next to him.

“That’s not the point,” Kuroo said. He whipped something out of his pocket—a folded sheet of paper—and tossed it towards Keiji. The paper fluttered meekly and fell on top of the coffee table. Keiji picked it up, and Kuroo said, “You’re welcome.”

It was an article from some science website. Keiji frowned down at it.

JAXA to Send Team to International Space Station: Here’s What You Should Know

But what Keiji should know, he never found out, because his eyes were drawn to a tall picture next to the first paragraph, where three people stood, arms around each other, clad in space suits.

_Astronauts set to board the ISS: (left to right) Shimizu Kiyoko, Oikawa Tooru, Bokuto Koutarou_

There was a pale, dark-haired woman, a lanky man with a saccharine smile, and…

And Bokuto.

Keiji was well aware that he was staring. He couldn’t stop himself. He hadn’t even thought…never even considered to ask Bokuto for a picture, or to find one himself.

Bokuto certainly didn’t look like any person Keiji could have imagined; his hair was spiked up and streaked with white, and his eyes were wide, round, yellow, like a hawk’s. These were accompanied by bold eyebrows and a strong jawline, and he grinned up at Keiji with a confident, roguish grin that fit so well with everything Keiji knew about him.

Butterflies erupted in his stomach. Keiji fought to keep his face expressionless, and looked up at Kuroo.

Kuroo grinned crookedly. “Handsome, eh?”

Keiji didn’t acknowledge that, true as it may be, but his gripped tightened on the paper while he said, “Thank you, Kuroo-san. I never thought to check the papers.”

Kuroo shrugged as he watched the pixelated characters of Kenma’s video game. “It’s six months old. The news just never addresses science things as much as they should.”

Keiji stood and skirted around the coffee table, heading back into his room. His eyes were still on the grainy picture, his thumbnail brushing against Bokuto’s jaw.

**Akaashi!**

**Can I call you?**

Keiji felt the corners of his lips twitch involuntarily as he pulled out a marker to reply.

_Of course, Bokuto-san._

His cellphone buzzed against his mattress, and Keiji picked up the call.

“Bokuto-san?”

“Hey, Akaashi!” Bokuto’s voice chimed out of the receiver.

“Hello, Bokuto-san. How have you been?”

“Good! We’ve been doing maintenance, which is kinda boring, but…” And he continued speaking about mechanisms and data that Keiji had no head for, but he curled up against his cushions and tried to contribute to the conversation anyway.

“What about you? Tell me everything that’s happened since last time.” Bokuto’s voice was pleasantly demanding, and Keiji complied.

He thumbed the picture in his hands, and decided to rip off the bandage. Very thankful that Bokuto couldn’t see his flush, he said, “Kuroo-san, ah, found an article online with a picture of you and your crew in it, he gave this to me just now.”

There was a loud groan, and then Bokuto muttered, “There’s no way I looked good in that, I just can’t do that press stuff—”

“You—” Keiji cleared his throat. “You look good, Bokuto-san.”

“You really think so?” Bokuto’s voice brightened, before dipping back into sulkiness. “But I don’t know what you look like, Akaashi! It’s not fair.”

Keiji rubbed two fingers against his brows. “I suppose…I can send you a few pictures, Bokuto-san. If you’d like.” He really didn’t indulge in this sort of stuff—he hardly had any pictures of himself—but Bokuto did make a fair point about the current imbalance in their relationship.

“Please! I’ll give you my email.”

And so Keiji did. He found an old picture from his high school graduation, which made him cringe but he included it anyway, as well as a picture his mother sent him months ago from their family vacation in Mexico. His face still unreasonably warm, he sent the email.

He concentrated very hard on a label on his pillow when he heard Bokuto’s slight intake of breath. _100% cotton, made in China…_ but his concentration broke when Bokuto spoke.

“Akaashi, you’re, uhm.” Bokuto presumably sighed heavily, which came across as loud white noise through the receiver. He then laughed with a nervous edge. “You’re kind of hot, Akaashi.”

“Ah.” Keiji felt the burning desire to sink through his bed covers. His voice came out as a squeak when he said, “Thank you, Bokuto-san.”

Thankfully for Keiji’s health, Bokuto didn’t dwell on it, and instead moved on to asking about where the second picture was from. Keiji quickly sprang on the change of topic.

“We went to Mexico, mm, a year and a half ago? It was interesting to see the culture, but very hot.”

“That sounds so fun! I never got to travel around much.” Bokuto sounded morose, and Keiji felt the need to point it out to him.

“Bokuto-san, you’re in space. You’ve quite literally seen the entire world.”

That made Bokuto laugh heartily. “You’re right! But honestly, space gets boring after a while. Especially when you’re with only two people all the time.”

There was some noise on the other end—faint voices? Bokuto’s voice moved away from the speaker, and Keiji heard him yell, “You are the worst roommate ever! Nobody needs to know that much about your love life!”

There were more voices, and a moment later, Bokuto returned to the phone, grumbling. “It gets really annoying, actually.”

Keiji hummed in acknowledgement. “Where would you like to go, then?”

“Hmm…Australia!” When Keiji made a small noise like a laugh, Bokuto continued, slightly defensively, “Hey, they have emus there! There are so many cool animals…”

‘I’m not laughing at you, Bokuto-san,” Keiji clarified. “Australia sounds amazing to visit. Although, I have heard that there are many dangerous animals there.”

“I’d protect you,” Bokuto said pompously, but far from blinking in disbelief, Keiji felt a swoop in his stomach.

“That’s…very nice of you,” Keiji replied, and tried not to sound too mollified.

“Can we go after I land?”

“I, uh.” Keiji spluttered, “I still have school, Bokuto-san, and won’t you be busy after you land?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bokuto said dejectedly.

Keiji felt that wild urge that he had newly discovered, the one that wanted to do anything to keep disappointment out of Bokuto’s voice. “But we…we could go somewhere closer. If you’d like.”

“Please! We could go to my parents’ place in Okinawa, it’s really pretty!” Bokuto enthused, oblivious to the way Keiji’s heart just bungee jumped in his chest. “There’s an awesome tonkatsu place I go to every time I visit…”

Bokuto continued to speak, and Keiji listened, but his mind wandered, turning over Bokuto’s invitation bemusedly. Visit his parents and his favourite restaurants? Keiji had only known him for a few months, and yet…he pictured being greeted by a faceless couple, walking into a crowded, cozy restaurant hand-in-hand with Bokuto, retreated back to the house, exhausted but happily so, into the same bed…

Warmth built up in his chest until it was painfully fiery. He thought that Bokuto would look very familiar on their squashy sofa, and the distance between the had never felt more prominent.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto’s voice asked, and Keiji became aware that he had stopped breathing. He gulped in a large quantity of air before letting Bokuto know that Keiji was here.

“Oh, okay. I thought for a second…” Bokuto trailed off, but surprisingly yet thankfully, he didn’t attempt to hide his emotions. “I’m not talking too much, am I? If you’re busy you can go.”

“If I was busy, I would have told you,” Keiji assured him. Feeling like he should reciprocate honesty, he said, “I was just…thinking about things we might do together.”

“Really?” Bokuto’s voice instantly brightened. “What do you want to do?”

“Well…”

Bokuto demanded to know Keiji’s favourite parts of Tokyo. While the library at Keiji’s university wasn’t so appealing, Bokuto enthused about visiting Keiji’s favourite parks and even a nearby history museum that Keiji interned at years ago, though clearly history was not Bokuto’s preferred subject. They uncovered a mutual interest in sports, and so Keiji suggested national volleyball games that they could go see while Bokuto expressed glee at the idea of them being gym buddies.

By the time they got off the phone, two hours had passed; the sun had set, and Bokuto was in free fall somewhere over Argentina.

Keiji set down his textbook and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to massage the ache out of his eyes. The natural light had steadily dimmed, but, foolishly, Keiji didn’t get up to turn on the light, and now he had a grinding headache on top of his exhaustion.

He slipped out of his room to fill a glass of water. It was dark, as Kenma had gone to visit a friend, and so the apartment was dead silent apart from his footsteps and the hum from the appliances.

Upon returning to his room, he fiddled with the marker on his pocket, tempted, but Bokuto’s last message—now smudged by the crook of Keiji’s elbow—said that he was going to be busy with some technical project. He had said that Keiji was free to write to him, but Keiji felt that he was better suited to not providing a distraction.

He picked up the article that Kuroo had given him, which was now a permanent resident on Keiji’s nightstand, thoroughly worn and creased. The printing quality was average at best and Keiji had certainly received better photographs since from Bokuto himself, but this picture, the first Keiji ever saw of him, was particularly special.

He had practically memorized the image at this point, but still he traced his finger over Bokuto’s form, wondering how this shape would feel when it was warm and tangible.

As he made to put the article back on the stand, some words on the back caught his eye. Frowning, he unfolded and flattened the paper against the nightstand, bending over to read.

 _This mission is part of an extended project at JAXA. The astronauts will enjoy a six-month intermission during which they will work with ground scientists to report their collected data, while monitoring and recuperating their health._ _After this, official spokespeople for JAXA have confirmed that the astronauts are expected to revisit the ISS for an eight-month follow up mission._

Keiji felt as if his insides were doused in cold water. He reread the paragraph, but the meaning didn’t change. Bokuto was supposed to leave again, six months after Keiji was to meet him for the first time.

This couldn’t present that big of a problem, could it? Plenty of people engaged in long-distance relationships, although Keiji had to admit that orbiting around the planet was a uniquely compromising situation.

And they weren’t _in_ an actual relationship, were they? Of course, because of the soul bond it was assumed that they would be “together”, but they had never discussed it in any manner that made it official.

So Keiji didn’t really had the right to bring up his concerns, did he? There was no telling how exactly their relationship would develop by the time Bokuto had to leave again. And, he reasoned, it wasn’t like Bokuto wouldn’t ever come back. They had all the time in the world.

There was a hard pit forming in his stomach but he resolutely ignored it. There was no point bothering anyone with pointless concerns.

A few days later, though Keiji had to admit that the pointless concerns weren’t staying locked up like he had hoped they would. Instead, they crept up on him whenever he spotted Bokuto’s handwriting on his skin, whenever he so much as tried to think about what would happen in the next few months.

He considered bringing it up to Kenma but he just couldn’t do it. This was out of Kenma’s control, after all, and what more could he say that Keiji hadn’t already told himself? On top of that, Kenma had already counseled him through other soulmate-related crises—between resenting his own helplessness and envying Kenma’s easy relationship, Keiji was starting to feel rather pathetic.

He was trying to get through a reading about ethics, but as he scanned the words on the page, they’d be replaced by an image of golden eyes and a rakish grin, floating just out of his reach.

He put down the textbook, slumped in his chair (a rare occurrence, since he didn’t want chronic back pain), watched the ceiling. This needed to be sorted, in his own mind, so that he could move on.

_Am I upset that Bokuto-san will leave so soon after I meet him?_

Yes, he was, there was no use pretending he wasn’t, no matter how irrational it was.

_Am I worried that our relationship will suffer, if he leaves so soon?_

If Bokuto left so soon, Keiji could imagine it would be tense, maybe awkward, having to say goodbyes so soon after the hellos, but they got along well over the phone. Based on what he had experienced, he didn’t need to assume that they would _suffer_.

_Will I miss him badly if he leaves so soon? Is that what’s upsetting me?_

This made Keiji frown hard. Surely, he could handle Bokuto leaving, if they were only in each other’s lives, physically, for six months. He would be used to communicating with Bokuto through the phone and bond. On the other hand, the separation might be all the more painful, because they only got six months together.

_Would I want him to cancel his mission?_

Keiji had widened his eyes at the ceiling, beseeching it to excuse any selfish thoughts that might flit by as Keiji reasoned with himself. Keiji could never, in good conscience, ask Bokuto to sacrifice his career and obligations for Keiji.

_…Am I upset at him because he will be leaving?_

This gave Keiji pause. He wasn’t. There was no way, because that would be ridiculous. Bokuto had never been anything but good to him, and Keiji lamented how selfish he would be to begrudge Bokuto for a career choice he made before he knew Keiji existed.

But there lay a niggling thought at the back of his mind…dolefully asking why Bokuto didn’t tell him about this, why did he agree to this, why he was leaving again when he was still gone. For a moment he entertained a fantasy world in which Bokuto rejected the mission for true love…but he squashed that notion before it could run away, and his face warmed.

 _Stop wallowing over this,_ he told himself sternly. _Bokuto-san doesn’t owe you anything. Grow up._

**Akaashi!! Where have you been?**

**If you’re busy, it’s fine, but I’ve missed you.**

_Sorry, Bokuto-san. There’s been a lot on my mind recently._

**Do you need to talk about it?**

**I can call you!**

_I don’t want to bother you._

**It’s no bother! And I miss talking to you.**

**I’m your soulmate, Akaashi, I want to support you!**

_It’d be nice to hear you._

**:D**

Keiji picked up his cell on the second ring. “Hello, Bokuto-san.”

“Hi, Akaashi!” Bokuto greeted. There was faint rustling on the other end of the line. “So what’s been bothering you?”

“Well…” Keiji picked at a wrinkle in his bedsheets. Should he bring it up? He didn’t think it would be a particularly pleasant conversation. On the other hand, honesty was the best policy, or so he was told. “Um, I actually read something in an article that I should probably talk to you about.”

“What is it?” Bokuto sounded genuinely confused.

“It talks about a…follow-up mission that you’re meant to go on, about six months after you land.” Keiji wet his lips. “I just wanted to ask what that was…about,” he finished lamely.

“Oh.”

That wasn’t comforting, and Bokuto didn’t seem to be offering any information. “Would you mind telling me about it?”

“Yeah, of course,” Bokuto said quickly, but his voice had lost his usual zeal. “It’s to run a few more tests, gather more data. It was planned before I even knew about any missions.”

“So you’ll be leaving, again. Six months after…” He didn’t finish his sentence, not wanting to sound like a child.

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto answered, and Keiji felt a guilty flash for making Bokuto feel bad. “It won’t be as long as this one. Just eight months.”

 _Just eight months._ “It’s fine,” Keiji amended. “It sounds interesting.”

A pause. “I get it if you’re upset about it,” Bokuto mumbled into the phone.

“I’m not upset,” Keiji lied. “We aren’t even properly together, like—” He fumbled with his words, trying to speak over the lump in his throat and trying to explain without forcing obligation onto Bokuto. “—like a couple, or anything. I have no right to be upset about you doing your job.”

“Right.” Keiji strained to distinguish Bokuto’s voice. “Right. Why would we miss each other?”

An icy shard pierced Keiji’s heart, branding him a hypocrite. “Right.”

They were quiet—a silent standoff, neither of them wanting to back away first.

Eventually, Bokuto said, in a strained, cheery tone, “Oikawa’s calling me to help him with something! I’ll call you back.”

“Of course. We’ll talk later,” Keiji said, but Bokuto hung up before Keiji had finished his sentence.

“Keiji?” Kenma’s voice approached from the hallway.

Keiji looked up from his desk as Kenma nudged open the door. Kenma leaned around the doorway, so that his face and torso emerged into the room at a gently sloping angle.

“Do you want to go to the park with Shouyou and some friends?” Kenma asked. “Later in the evening.”

Keiji blinked, because it was highly unusual for Kenma to hang out with _some friends_ , much less invite anyone else along.

Kenma probably sensed this, because he flicked his eyes to the floor and back to Keiji’s face before mumbling, “You’ve been kind of down these past few weeks. You need fresh air.”

“I just have a lot of work,” Keiji answered, partially truthful.

Kenma scratched the door frame with his index finger. “I don’t really believe you, but I thought I’d offer.”

Kenma wasn’t going to push. Keiji didn’t know whether he appreciated it or whether he wanted Kenma to force him to let it all gush out.

He could do with a change of scenery.

“I’ll go,” he told Kenma.

Later in the evening, Keiji changed into jeans and a simple t-shirt, fitting for the July heat. He headed downstairs with Kenma, and took Kenma’s car to Kuroo’s apartment, so he could come along—because of course he would. Together, they drove to the local park, a spacious plot of field and forest, dotted with picnic tables and benches for relaxation in nature.

The night was soothingly warm and less saturated with water vapour than usual for summer in Japan. Keiji trailed behind Kuroo and Kenma, not staying behind but not engaging in their murmured conversations. They led him to a pair of picnic tables tucked under an elm tree, where others had already gathered.

There was Hinata, with his trademark fiery hair; Yaku, a mutual friend who recently graduated from Keiji’s law school; a tall boy with silver hair that Keiji didn’t recognize; and a small, blond girl that Keiji vaguely remembered but couldn’t name. Yaku was grilling on the barbecue and herding away the younger ones who seemed determined to poke their noses into the ashes.

Keiji was greeted enthusiastically and sat by the edge of the table. Yaku pulled him into a conversation on a topic Keiji was very much comfortable in: where was Yaku working now, what did Keiji enjoy in school, what was Keiji planning to do for the future?

It wasn’t a particularly calming experience. Hinata and the boy Keiji learned was called Lev didn’t seem able to sit still for more than a minute and had a tendency to erupt into loud squawks when experiencing the slightest emotional arousal. The blond girl, Yachi, was shy, but her nervousness manifested into jabbering that only encouraged Hinata and Lev’s antics. Kuroo and Yaku rolled their eyes and interrupted with comments near constantly, the former rather snidely and the latter more sternly. Kenma, for his part, only engaged in one-onto-one conversations and sat at the edge of the table across from Keiji, with Kuroo on his left serving as a barrier to the pandemonium. He was kind enough to steer Keiji out of nonsensical debates whenever the younger ones tried to incite one and Yaku was too caught up in heated argument to do so.

Despite all that, it wasn’t unpleasant. It was actually sort of nice; though not an experience that Keiji would seek out often, there was a lively atmosphere that got even Keiji to smile on occasion.

He particularly enjoyed Yaku’s cooking, which made for a great dinner to eat as the sun set over the horizon.

“I wanted Yaku-san to bring his girlfriend, I wanted to meet her,” Hinata whined.

Yaku smiled dryly. “She had to go back to Canada to finish her graduate studies, but they’ll be over soon and we can talk about her moving here.”

“I’ve met Yaku-san’s girlfriend,” Lev informed proudly. “She’s super nice.”

“Not fair!” Hinata complained.

“Tell the story, Yaku-san!” Lev asked.

Yaku sighed and rolled his eyes, though it was clear that his reluctance was feigned. Keiji never particularly wanted to hear ‘the story’, and he certainly wasn’t interested right now, but he didn’t want to just get up and walk away, either.

“We got our bond when I was just starting college, but she didn’t speak any Japanese and I only spoke a little English, so we couldn’t really talk to each other,” Yaku recited. “So in college I tried to study some English and she started taking Japanese classes, but she ended up majoring in Japanese studies. Right now she’s doing…something related to commerce and culture in Japan.” He waved a hand in the air. “She can explain better than I can. It was lucky because we don’t have to worry about whether we can live together—she’s going to get a job here.”

Keiji could feel Kenma’s eyes on him, so he forced a neutral expression and hummed politely in acknowledgement.

“You’re so lucky. I wish I had that.” Hinata arced his back and stretched his arms forward, staring at his wrist as if he was expecting writing to pop up.

“I thought you met your soulmate,” Kuroo asked curiously. Kenma let out a small huff, like he anticipated what came next.

“I’ve only talked to him through the bond,” Hinata grumbled. “He’s an _asshole_.”

Yachi patted Hinata’s arm sympathetically. Yaku looked confused.

“Is that even possible?” he asked.

“I guess even assholes get a Bond,” Kuroo said. He was clearly only half listening to the conversation, since he was scrolling through his phone.

“Yeah, but I meant, is it possible to dislike your soulmate?” Yaku questioned. “To the point where you don’t want to be with them? Aren’t you ‘meant to be’?”

Keiji focused very hard on the silhouette of a distant shrub.

Hinata’s scowl deepened. “Well, apparently.”

“Maybe if you meet, you’ll started to be attracted to each other?” Lev suggested.

Hinata snorted. “My soulmate has the personality of a sour lemon. He probably looks like one, too.”

“You talk to him pretty often, though, don’t you, Shouyou?” Kenma said. His attention wasn’t fully on the conversation, either, but there was clear intent behind the words. “Even if you don’t like him.”

Hinata sputtered. “I don’t—I don’t talk to him _often_! He just keeps sending me stupid messages!”

“And you keep sending them back,” Kuroo muttered. Kenma looked amused.

“Can we do something else,” said Hinata, whose face was now red.

Yaku suggested a walk so they could burn off energy, and the younger ones latched onto that idea immediately. Kenma was brought along by force (Hinata grabbed his hand and stopped running only when Kenma promised that he’d walk by them).

Like before, Keiji stayed at the outskirts of the group, though not too far that anyone would think he was isolating himself. He _wasn’t_ ; all that talk about soulmates had just cracked open that mental box where Keiji had stuffed his tumultuous emotions, and he had to sort it out.

Since that specific conversation with Bokuto…they had kept in touch; their routine stayed fairly steady, albeit more calls were skipped under excuses of having too much work to do (partial lies on both ends, Keiji suspected). Their dynamic had…changed, though. Bokuto’s cheer was noticeably turned down, and they kept their conversations restricted to lighthearted, superficial topics, where they could be more or less ‘normal’. It wasn’t comfortable, and Keiji ended each call with a hollow feeling in his chest. Keiji still made an effort, because the alternative was to not talk to Bokuto at all, and that Keiji didn’t think he could stand.

He wasn’t quite sure what the solution was, only that this couldn’t go on for much longer before something snapped.

“ _Don’t_ go there—there’ll be mosquitoes.”

“Why didn’t you put on bug spray, Yaku-san?” Lev asked innocently, and Yaku looked highly irritated.

“What’s happening?” Keiji asked, and Kenma nodded in Hinata’s direction, where Hinata and Yachi were scampering towards a thicket on a hill—or rather, a cylindrical structure rising out of the thicket, at the top of the hill. Keiji squinted, but couldn’t make out what it was.

Yaku hissed and slapped at his skin when they traversed the little path leading up the hill, but didn’t declare that he would hang back. Keiji just thanked the stars that he _did_ remember to put on bug spray.

There was a small staircase that led to a fenced platform, only just higher than Keiji’s head. The door on the platform, leading inside the concrete structure, was left ajar. Hinata and Yachi seemed to be squished inside, while Lev waited, one foot inside the room, one foot out.

“Do you think we’ll see anything?” Yachi’s voice asked. “There’s so much light pollution.”

“Dunno, I’m trying to see?” Hinata replied. “Where’s the moon?”

“I didn’t know this park had an observatory,” Kenma commented.

“I don’t think it’s a very good one.” Kuroo leaned against the stairway. “Oi, how long are you planning on spending here?”

“Let me see,” Lev complained.

“Here, Lev—”

“Oof, don’t elbow me, Lev—”

“There isn’t enough space—”

“Oh! Oh! Is that a nebula?”

“That’s a _stain_ , Lev. Jeez, someone should wash this thing.”

Kuroo looked on with amusement. Yaku and Kenma were talking about something or another. Keiji figured that nobody would miss him, right now.

As he turned to walk down the path, Kenma caught his eye, but let Keiji pass without question.

Keiji felt a little silly, but that was overpowered by the heaviness that clung to his insides. He made his way up another hill, facing the open sky, from where he could see the small figures gathered outside the observatory, and sat at its crest, arms wrapped around his knees.

The air around him was still, too still. Somewhere along the way, he had gotten used to an overenthusiastic voice encompassing his space, but Hinata’s chirping and Yachi’s squeaking didn’t fill that space—instead, they magnified it, so that Keiji spent every second aware of the vacuum that surrounded him.

Keiji pulled out his phone and thumbed through his call history, wondering. He pressed call and let it ring against his ears, not expecting an answer.

“Akaashi?”

“Hello, Bokuto-san.” His voice was rougher than usual. “I’m sorry I called so suddenly—if you’re busy—”

“I’m not,” Bokuto answered immediately. “Are you okay?”

Keiji wondered if Bokuto knew him well enough to detect when something was off, or if Keiji was just really obvious.

“Akaashi?”

“Sorry.” Keiji blinked hard.

Concern was more evident in Bokuto’s voice when he said, “It’s okay. What’s going on?”

Keiji bit his lip, willing himself to calm down. “I just…wanted to talk to you, I guess.”

There was rustling on the other end of the line, and then Bokuto said, “What do you want to talk about?”

There was a note of wariness in his voice. Or maybe there wasn’t. Keiji didn’t know how much he was hearing Bokuto and how much he was hearing echoes of his own thoughts.

“Nothing in particular.” Keiji wrapped a blade of grass around his finger. “I’m sorry if I’m wasting your time, I can go—”

“No, Akaashi, it’s okay,” Bokuto said. More softly, he continued, “Please don’t go.”

“What are you doing right now?” Keiji asked, in want of a distraction.

“I just finished dinner. I had re-hydrated curry ramen and some nori. Oh, and then a cheese-flavoured supplemental nutrition block.” By Bokuto’s tone, Keiji imagined that he was pulling a face.

“That sounds delectable,” Keiji replied, aiming for and partially achieving a dry voice.

“It’s edible,” Bokuto sighed. “I miss real food.”

There was a pause, perhaps Bokuto wondering if mentioning him returning to Earth was a sensitive topic. It was, but this was the most genuine conversation they’d had in two months, and hell if Keiji was going to let it die.

“When you’re on Earth again, I’ll make something for you,” Keiji said. “I’ve been told I make good cheesecake.”

“Really?” Bokuto’s voice brightened, truly lifted for the first time in months, making Keiji’s heart somersault. It was like a gulp of cool water after crossing a desiccating desert. “I didn’t know you could bake!”

“It’s just a simple recipe,” Keiji said hastily. “Not a big deal.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Akaashi. I like that you can bake, it’s cute!”

“My grandmother taught me when I was younger,” Keiji offered, grudgingly. “It’s relaxing.”

“I’m excited for it,” Bokuto said. Keiji didn’t know whether he was referring to the cheesecake or his return to ground.

They sat silently, for a moment. The night was still, but it was now full and warm, with his friends’ laughter chiming from a nearby hill and Bokuto’s soft breaths against his ear.

“We’re passing over Japan, just now,” Bokuto said. There was some rustling. “Yeah, we are! I think this means I’m looking at you, Akaashi.”

Keiji laid back so his head and back were pressed against warm earth and cool grass. He gazed up, wherein stretched a canvas painted deep, boundless indigo, uninterrupted except for the silver sliver of a crescent moon.

“I’m at a park with some friends, and I’ve been sitting, watching the sky. I think that means I’m looking back at you,” Keiji murmured.

He gazed into the sky, imagining that he could reach out, break the surface with his hand and grab onto Bokuto’s, pulling him down to Earth. He imagined Bokuto gazing back down at him, imagined them looking at each other.

In that moment, they were aligned, and Keiji could see Bokuto clearly.

Bokuto swallowed audibly. “Akaashi, I…I asked about that secondary mission.”

The air split with a loud bang from the opposing hill. Keiji breathed in heavily. “Ah. What about it?”

“Well, they told me that I could choose to be replaced with a reserve flight engineer…It’d be inconvenient for them, but,” Bokuto said. “I can do that, if—if that’s what you want.”

Keiji’s eyes burned at the same time his stomach clenched. Because what did it say, if Bokuto was willing to set aside a career commitment for Keiji’s sake? And worse, what did it say if Keiji made him feel pressured to do so?

There was no heaviness in his heart when Keiji said, firmly, “No. I don’t want you sacrificing your career for me, Bokuto-san. I’ll support whatever decision _you_ want to make.”

“I do want to be down there with you, I do,” Bokuto said, and his voice was stronger, which Keiji took as a good sign.

“I know,” Keiji said, and he did. “But I can tell that your job makes you happy, and I wouldn’t take that away from you.”

“Thank you,” Bokuto said, which made Keiji feel more like he made the right decision. He continued, with a more nervous inflection, “Actually, there’s something else I wanted to ask you, if—if you want.”

“What is it?” Keiji inquired, watching Kuroo and Kenma walk down into the thicket.

“Well, they allow visitors for the landing, so, if you want, obviously, you could come,” Bokuto said, and steamrollered on, “It’s fine if you don’t want to, because it’s kind of weird for the first time we meet, but I thought I’d offer…”

Keiji cleared his throat. “What about your family?”

“They’ll understand,” Bokuto said. “I don’t want to wait.” He said that last part like an admission, like Keiji might deem him desperate or weak.

“I feel the same,” Keiji replied quietly. His skin tingled; he felt as if he had been stripped raw. “I’ll be there.”

“Really?” There was a smile in Bokuto’s voice. “That’s awesome! I’ll send you the details soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Keiji agreed. From the foot of the hill, Yaku waved and yelled something that Keiji didn’t catch. “I have to go, for now; I’ll call you back, Bokuto-san.”

“Okay!” Bokuto paused for a moment, a slight but uncharacteristic hesitation. “I’ll be here.”

Keiji ended the call and stepped down the hill, feeling considerably lighter than before.

Keiji was interrupted from his spare moments of recreational reading by a knock at the door.

He opened it to reveal a man Keiji did not know, and did not find particularly trustworthy, only because he had a disgruntled expression and a muscular build. Keiji didn’t like displeased strongmen in his living space.

“Can I help you?” he asked, trying to stay polite.

The man heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry for showing up like this. I only came because Tooru wouldn’t stop pestering me and said it would help Bokuto.”

Keiji blinked. “You know Bokuto-san?”

“Yeah.” The man crossed his arms. “He’s a friend. You’re Akaashi Keiji, right? Tooru said to talk to you, or something.”

Recognition blinked in Keiji’s mind. “This Tooru is...Oikawa-san? Bokuto-san's crew mate?”

The man nodded. “I’m Iwaizumi. Hajime. I can leave if you want.” Iwaizumi didn’t seem to prefer either option. 

“Uh. No, that’s okay. Would you like to come in?” Keiji offered, because he may as well, if Iwaizumi came all the way out here to help. Whatever that entailed.

Iwaizumi accepted the offer and also accepted Keiji’s offer of tea, which was good, because it gave Keiji something to do besides bathe in the awkwardness of having a stranger in your home. He was glad Kenma was out.

“So...why exactly did Oikawa-san send you here?” Keiji asked, as he set water to boil.

“He said...” Iwaizumi paused to read something off his wrist. Huh. So they were soulmates. “He said you’re Bokuto’s boyfriend? And we should talk because we’re in the same boat.”

Keiji’s face flushed with warmth at “boyfriend”. “Oh.”

Iwaizumi looked up in apparent alarm. “Is that right, or was Oikawa embellishing the truth again?”

“It’s not wrong,” Keiji deflected. His stomach prickled, but he wasn’t going to tell a stranger about his personal problems, no matter how well-intentioned they were. “Did Bokuto-san talk to Oikawa-san about, uh, about me?”

He mentally cringed; the wording made it seem like he was in middle school, trying to see if the girl he liked said anything about him.

“Bokuto’s not a gossip, so I’d bet Oikawa wheedled some information out of him,” Iwaizumi said. Keiji placed teabags into two steaming cups.

“Oikawa-san sounds like...an interesting person,” Keiji said, trying to put it delicately.

Iwaizumi snorted, which made the corner of Keiji’s mouth tug upward. “That’s an understatement.”

Keiji carried the two cups to the living room and invited Iwaizumi to sit. Iwaizumi took one cup with thanks.

“What do you do, Akaashi-kun?” Iwaizumi asked, and the conversation veered into much more comfortable territory. They made small talk and Keiji found Iwaizumi to be good company, level-headed and direct. He didn’t ask the intrusive questions like Keiji feared; the topic of soulmates was omitted entirely.

Until they rerouted back to Oikawa’s job, which led them into a discussion of how Iwaizumi discovered his bond. 

“Did you really discover yours after Bokuto left?” Iwaizumi asked, not hiding his curiosity. “I’m sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it...”

“It’s fine,” Keiji said with a shrug, feigning nonchalance. It seemed...so long ago, those days when Keiji feared (even if he wouldn’t admit it) that the universe intended him for no one. Not for the first time, he wondered how someone could feel so far and so close at the same time. “I did. Actually, it happened after Oikawa-san drew on Bokuto-san's face while he slept.”

Iwaizumi gave an exaggerated eye roll. Keiji found his relationship with Oikawa rather amusing. “Of course he did.”

“I suppose I should thank him.”

“Don’t, it’ll only feed his ego.” Iwaizumi set down his cup and folded his hands over his knee. “Honestly, it sucks.”

“Sorry?” Keiji asked. Iwaizumi sounded as if someone was twisting his arm behind his back to say it.

“The whole—" Iwaizumi waved a hand around. “Space thing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s cool as shit, and he loves it, so I can’t complain.”

“It sounds hard.” Keiji stared into his empty cup. “Since you’re so used to him being around.”

Iwaizumi sighed. “Yeah. It helps a little that I knew about it for ages before they actually had to leave.” Iwaizumi fixed him with a look. “I’d assume it’s difficult for you, too. Understandably.”

Keiji’s hands fluttered around his cup. “Ah, well...it’s strange,” he admitted, “Since I never actually met him.”

“I can’t pretend to know what that feels like,” Iwaizumi said lightly, and Keiji briefly lamented how he so often found himself to be in the company of those who were fated to love their childhood friends. “But it sounds hard. Um. If you ever need to talk about it with someone, you can—" Iwaizumi cleared his throat. “You can call me.”

Keiji looked up at him. Iwaizumi didn’t strike him as particularly emotional or vulnerable, but here he was offering. A lump welled in his throat. “Thank you, Iwaizumi-san.” He paused for a moment, and decided to take the leap. “It was, um. I hate having to wait to meet him.”

Iwaizumi nodded, not pitying or upset. Just understanding. It allowed Keiji to forge onward. “I assume you know about the follow-up mission next year.”

Iwaizumi’s smile was wry. “Yeah. I wasn’t too happy to learn about it.”

“It’s just...” Keiji struggled for words. “I’ll meet him when he lands and six months after that…”

“It sucks,” Iwaizumi agreed. They sat for a moment, bonding through their situation. Keiji appreciated it, having someone who could be upset about it alongside with him, cruel as that may sound. Maybe Oikawa was onto something. Keiji really would have to thank him.

“It’s a stupidly cheesy thing to say,” Iwaizumi started, thoughtfully. “But they’re literally zooming around Earth, and at the same time, they’re sort of right here. In our skin. It sounds weird to say, honestly.”

Keiji stared at his hand. There was an incident, a few months ago, when Keiji cut his thumb while slicing vegetables—a minor injury that made holding pens difficult. Within minutes, Bokuto was calling him to ask if he was okay, and in that moment Keiji could imagine Bokuto standing in front of him, hands in a frenzy, checking Keiji over and demanding to inspect the damage.

“I think you’re right,” Keiji said.

Not an hour after Iwaizumi left, with a promise to stay in touch and keep his boyfriend from further meddling, Bokuto wrote asking if they could call. Keiji accepted without hesitation; between both their schedules, they struggled to find overlapping free time, and Keiji missed him.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said rapidly into the phone, the moment Keiji picked up. “So, please don’t be mad, but I was talking to Oikawa about some stuff and he got the idea to ask his boyfriend to—”

“To visit me and talk to me?” Keiji asked, dryly. “That warning came a little late, Bokuto-san.”

There was a long, drawn out groan at the other end of the line. Keiji’s lips quirked up involuntarily. “It’s all my fault! Oikawa wouldn’t stop asking—and then I refused to give him your phone number, _obviously_ , and even Iwaizumi—”

“It’s fine, Bokuto-san,” Keiji interrupted, before Bokuto could work himself into a tizzy. “Iwaizumi-san was very pleasant.”

“Well, yeah, it’s Iwaizumi, he’s awesome,” Bokuto said. “But _Oikawa_ —and Iwaizumi _listened_ to him—”

“I doubt there’s much that Iwaizumi-san refuses Oikawa-san,” Keiji commented idly. “He clearly loves him.”

“Yeah, you’re right. They’re disgusting.” Bokuto sighed into the phone. “I’m glad you aren’t mad.”

“Even if I was, it wouldn’t be directed at you,” Keiji said, his own voice startlingly gentle. “And I think it helped, talking to him.”

“Good, that’s good to hear,” Bokuto said in a slightly strangled tone. “But I’m not telling Oikawa it went well or he’ll try to become my life coach.”

“By all means,” Keiji answered, amused.

“I try not to spill too much about it—about you.” Bokuto now sounded embarrassed. It was rather endearing. “It’s hard to keep anything from Oikawa, but I didn’t think you’d like it.”

“Thank you, Bokuto-san.” Keiji found himself blushing, and wondered when he became this soft. “I appreciate it. Did you receive the information you requested last week?”

“Yes! I was going to send you an email with all the stuff tomorrow. Are you sure you want to come? You can say no, I won’t mind,” Bokuto added, more hesitantly.

“I am sure,” Keiji said, keeping his resolve firm. “I’m being redundant at this point; my answer won’t change, Bokuto-san. There’s nothing I’m looking forward to more.”

“Okay, okay, good,” Bokuto said, voice sheepish. “You’re just hard to read, sometimes, ‘kaashi.”

“I’ll try to be clearer,” Keiji said sincerely.

“Nah, I like that about you.” Bokuto was so flippant about that, as if it didn’t make Keiji’s heart cartwheel. There was a pause, and his tone softened. “It might be kind of weird that I miss you even though we haven’t technically met.”

“It’s not.” Keiji really had to concentrate to form words; Bokuto had a remarkable talent of making that difficult for him. “I’m the same. I…I miss you.”

“D’you think something like this has happened before?” Bokuto mused. “Soulmates like us?”

No, Keiji did not think there had ever or will ever be a person like Bokuto, at least not that Keiji could see. In the span of human history, Bokuto’s life was like a shooting star, fleeting but beautiful, and Keiji was lucky that his tiny existence coincided with it.

“I’m sure there are soulmates in history who have been separated by long distances,” Keiji said, instead of poeticizing. “I’m not sure if it’s ever happened with anyone in space.”

“I think we’re unique,” Bokuto declared, like Keiji needed telling. “And I think—wait, hold up, Akaashi, can I call you back later? I need to help the others with something, it’s kinda urgent…”

Alarmed, Keiji asked, “Is everything okay? I don’t want to interrupt your work...”

“No, it’s nothing to worry about, but it’s better I’m there with them,” Bokuto said. “They need an engineer’s touch! But—” Bokuto made a small noise like a sigh. “I wish we could talk for longer. I’m sorry I’m always so busy.”

“We’re both busy,” Keiji said, pushing down his tug of disappointment. He closed his eyes. “It’s okay, Bokuto-san. We have time. Years, really.”

Nothing came through the line except for a soft breath. Keiji frowned. “Bokuto-san.”

“Akaashi, can I tell you something?” Bokuto’s voice was husky, and he pressed on without waiting for an answer. “I love you.”

Keiji’s breath hitched. He pressed the crook of his thumb against his mouth, and willed the universe for strength.

“You don’t need to say it back, or anything,” Bokuto said, quieter, but as straightforward as he ever was. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bokuto-san,” Keiji croaked, wiping wetness out of his eyes. “Of course I love you, too.”

Keiji resisted the urge to do this on pencil and paper, but he kept a mental countdown every time he glanced at his calendar. 

October 8th, at 8:30 a.m. JST. That was the big day. He was skipping his classes but Keiji could hardly worry about that when his heart jump-started every time he thought about that day.

Bokuto had said there probably, very likely would be delays, because of all the procedures—medical examinations, flight delays, etc. Keiji didn’t think for a moment that he would be bored, but he might very well be eaten alive by nerves.

Still, there were worse things to do than wait around at a space station. Kuroo had made him promise to send pictures of any ‘cool shit’ he might see, a promise which he had no intention of fulfilling, not least because he would be too distracted to notice _anything_.

He spent the day before preparing, feeling irritatingly like a schoolgirl before her first date. Keiji had never been on any sort of date, but he refused to count tomorrow as one, and generally tried to avoid being comparable to schoolchildren. Really, none of this could help the meeting go any better, but there was a certain security he found in folding a freshly washed sweater and jeans over his desk, mapping out a schedule for the next day.

He went to bed feeling like he took a shot of espresso, and stared at the wall, half-formed thoughts running in circles; he could only grab onto lose ends of those thoughts.

At some point, Keiji fell asleep, and woke up the next morning with butterflies in his gut before he could even remember what there was to be nervous about. It was earlier than he was used to, and he wasn’t much of a morning person in the first place, but his sleepiness evaporated when he thought about the day awaiting him. Space stations. Soulmates. Bokuto-san.

He turned off his alarm before it could wake Kenma. Keiji got ready and breakfast in a haze of nerves, before setting off; he braced himself against the October drizzle and waited for the taxi that’d drive him to Chofu.

For the life of him, Keiji couldn’t remember what happened on that ride, only that he found himself at a white gate leading to an imposing campus, with a sign that read in Japanese and English:

**Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency**

**_Chofu Aerospace Center_ **

It was an intimidating, professional facility, and Keiji fought to keep a calm face while he sought out a guard building, where he presented an ID and was given a visitor’s pass and directions to the administrative building where he was to wait.

People in various uniforms wove in and around the campus, none sparing Keiji more than a cursory glance. He didn’t know if the lack of attention heightened or soothed his nervousness.

Keiji found the building and hesitated for a moment to enter, eyeing the very professional looking people standing inside with a grim set to their mouths. Before he could knock, a lady in a blue skirt suit swung open the door.

“Can I help you?” she asked, sounding rather like a strict principle.

Keiji merely held out his pass, that detailed the purpose of his visit. The lady snatched it and squinted, before a warm smile broke over her face and she looked back at Keiji.

“Ah, you’re Bokuto-san’s guest?” she asked, quite unnecessarily. “Come in, please. I’m Mizuro Hinata, administrative assistant to our Director General, Sasaki-san.”

He stepped inside, glancing around the sleek interior.

“You know that they won’t be on their way until at least eight?” Mizuro asked, and Keiji nodded. “Good, we’re just about to watch the landing.”

Mizuro handed him off to another employee, who escorted Keiji farther into the building. He was guided to a large room packed with more lab coats and suits, some of whom were manning computers. A screen at the front of the room projected a video—camera footage of the landing, Keiji realized.

At the back of the room was a nook of armchairs and loveseats, adjacent to a small breakfast-buffet sort of spread and cordoned off by a thin rope and a sign that read: _VIP_.

Inside sat an older, seemingly married couple on one couch, and Iwaizumi, who smiled as Keiji took a seat.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi said. “You okay?”

Keiji nodded tightly. “I guess I’m unsure, about what exactly is happening.” He excluded the part about being terrified for the meeting that would change his life forever, though he suspected Iwaizumi guessed as much.

“They started to descent a few minutes ago. They reported everything was fine

A flurry of noise rippled through the room, as the camera captured a blur of golden flames. Keiji frowned, trying to discern what exactly was happening.

“They lost transmission,” Iwaizumi breathed. He was watching the screen intently; his expression was neutral but Keiji didn’t miss the way his knuckles whitened around the chair’s arm.

“What?” Keiji asked. His stomach was doing barrel rolls, and he was seized by a distressing thought. “How dangerous is this? What happens if…”

“It’ll be fine,” Iwaizumi said. “They’ve checked for everything. All systems were perfect before the connection cut out.”

“How do you know all this, Iwaizumi-san?”

“We have a friend in Mission Control,” Iwaizumi explained, although he seemed mostly focused on the happenings on the screen. Keiji couldn’t blame him. “And Tooru triple-checks everything.”

They sat, watching the screen. Keiji forcibly redirected his thoughts every time they crept into the territory of things he didn’t need to think about at all. It would all be fine.

Next to him, Iwaizumi was checking his phone, almost spastically.

A few minutes later, the room breathed a collective sigh of relief, as an operator triumphantly announced that communications were back on as the first parachutes deployed.

Iwaizumi sat back and rubbed at his forehead. “Thank god.”

“Was that the worst of it?” asked the older woman, faintly. She gave Keiji a small smile. “I’m sorry for not introducing ourselves earlier; I’m Shimizu Miyuki, and this is my husband, Tatsuo.”

“Nice to meet you,” Keiji answered. “Akaashi Keiji.”

He was pulled into making small talk with the couple, which Iwaizumi was largely kept out of, presumably because they had previously met. This distracted him until there was another swell of voices, at which he glanced at the screen and saw three bright parachutes ballooning upwards.

“They’ll land soon,” Iwaizumi murmured.

Keiji was patient person (at least, he liked to think), but the careful, deliberate process, though meant to ensure the astronauts’ safety, tugged at his stomach. He would breathe easy once Bokuto could message him again.

The craft descended almost at a leisurely pace. The camera switched to a ground view, and Keiji saw a small, grey dot, steadily growing larger, emblazoned over three orange circles.

The craft moved lower…lower…lower…

There was a flash of orange, a billow of smoke, and the room erupted into cheers.

“Finally,” Keiji said, to hide the head rush of combined relief and anticipation. Iwaizumi chuckled and pulled out his phone.

There was more waiting, as Keiji was well aware of by now. Bokuto had explained it to him in some capacity: there were spacecraft inspections, medical examinations, and a helicopter flight to Chofu that the astronauts looked forward to, before they could greet their loved ones.

It was a lighter atmosphere, though, now that the mission was officially over and everyone had two feet on the ground. Iwaizumi pulled him into a light conversation, presumably as a distraction for both of them; they discussed their studies, previous study-abroad experiences, and a pleasantly surprising mutual involvement in high school volleyball. Iwaizumi also regaled his experience dating someone with an obsessive career commitment, and backhandedly assured Keiji that Bokuto’s work life-balance was very good.

It was a good enough distraction that Keiji nearly didn’t notice when a phantom touch brushed his arm. Out of habit, he pulled up his sweater sleeve, and his brain stuttered to a halt.

**We’re out! About to get on the helicopter**

“Do you have a pen?” Keiji asked Iwaizumi with urgency.

Iwaizumi gave him a questioning look before he started with understanding. He patted down his pockets before pulling out a rather weathered Sharpie with apology in his eyes.

It wasn’t what Keiji would have preferred, but he took the pen all the same.

_I look forward to seeing you._

A hot combination of excitement and anxiety pulsed in Keiji’s chest.

He didn’t think he could quite process it until he saw Bokuto in person. He couldn’t deny that Bokuto was an important fixture in his life, but today it would transform into something bigger. Until now, Bokuto had been a voice through the phone, a scrawl of ink on Keiji’s arm; today, Bokuto would become a full-fledged person, the man chosen by the _universe_ for Keiji.

It was as thrilling as it was frightening. Keiji didn’t know how long he could stand to wait. It was already 8:36 a.m., confirming Bokuto’s expectations that there would be delays.

It was just shy of an hour, during which people were continuously entering and exiting the building and the VIP guests were offered refreshments no less than three times, when another fuss of motions captured the room, and the lady from before—Mizuro-san—manifested before them.

“I’m here to escort you to where they’ll be landing,” she said happily. “We’ll be in a room with the Director General and our Program Managers.”

She led the way outside, and Keiji blinked, surprised by the morning sun in contrast to the relative dimness of the room he was in.

They were herded into a smaller room, with large windows facing an empty plot of land. This was clearly not the room’s main purpose—most of it was filled with computers of some sort—but there was enough space by the windows that everybody—camera crew, administration, and guests—could observe.

Before long, the small form of a helicopter appeared over the crest of an opposing building, the whirring of its blades growing louder by the second. A collective gasp gripped the room. Keiji felt Iwaizumi tense up next to him, and caught his breath as the helicopter descended.

Keiji’s nose was practically pressed against the window. The helicopter touched ground, far too slowly, and while the blades slowed, the door slid open, and there they were—the crew of astronauts, being helped along by the search-and-rescue team.

Keiji’s eyes sought out one in particular.

The breath was punched out of his lungs, and he still couldn’t tell whether it was in a positive or negative way.

He could recognize Bokuto instantly. Silver-streaked hair, golden eyes…those features were phantom, 2-D images in his head, but now they were just meters from Keiji, as real and tangible as anything could be. Bokuto’s skin glowed under the sunlight. He laughed at something someone—Shimizu? —said, and Keiji was struck by it—he could _see_ the joy behind the laugh he had heard a hundred times.

The door opened, and people flooded out to greet the crew. Oikawa did nothing except walk forward with a searching expression until Iwaizumi caught him in a bracing hug; Shizimu embraced her parents.

Keiji stayed rooted to the floor, watching. Bokuto’s eyes traveled over the crowd, his eyes ablaze. They met Keiji’s.

A brilliant smile split on Bokuto’s face, and he walked forward with a purposeful gait, dodging around anyone who tried to catch his attention in favour of barging into the room.

His pace slowed when he and Keiji faced each other for the first time. His expression was strange—his eyes were wide, eyebrows raised and mouth set. Keiji hesitated, not quite knowing where he should go. He was very aware of the pulse under his skin, the draft curling through his hair, and yet, everything seemed to fall away except for the man in front of him.

Bokuto settled into a crooked grin. His eyes sparkled. “Hey, ‘kaashi.”

“Hello, Bokuto-san,” Keiji answered simply.

He was only a few inches taller than Keiji, though his hair added extra height, and broad-set. He gave off an air of ruffled comfortability, dressed in a basic blue jumpsuit that was partway unzipped, revealing the grey shirt underneath. 

Bokuto walked forward at a measured pace. His smile grew softer. He came to a stop in front of Keiji, close enough that Keiji could reach out and touch his chest without extending his arm too much.

Bokuto touched his hand to Keiji’s, hardly holding it. Keiji looked down to the point of contact—warm, solid, _real_ —and then back at Bokuto, whose eyes hadn’t left Keiji’s face.

Keiji slid his hand into Bokuto’s and properly linked their hands together. Bokuto’s responding smile could power all of Tokyo.

He was _here_ and Keiji couldn’t stop looking at him. His brain was stunned into silence.

They were spared (or robbed) of the need to exchange words when Oikawa walked in, an arm slung around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, a flamboyant entrance that befitted Keiji’s image of Oikawa Tooru.

Bokuto didn’t drop Keiji’s hand but angled himself so that he partially stood in front of Keiji. Keiji had the distinct impression that Bokuto was trying to shield him, and he didn’t protest, curious as to how this would play out.

“There you two are,” Oikawa trilled. Iwaizumi rubbed his forehead with two fingers, hissing something under his breath. Oikawa was unaffected. “Bokuto has told me a lot about you, Akaashi-kun.”

His critical gaze scanned Keiji up and down. Keiji said nothing, but held Oikawa’s gaze, betraying nothing with his cool stare.

Oikawa smiled, this time less sharp, bordering on pleasant. He held a hand out. “I think you might be good for him.”

Keiji obliged to the handshake, though he didn’t have the most solidified opinion of Oikawa. Yet. That man seemed presumptuous and arrogant at best, but if his incisive greeting was borne out of protectiveness over his friend, Keiji couldn’t fault him.

“You should give him a tour of the facilities,” Oikawa suggested to Bokuto, gesturing around airily.

Bokuto frowned. “The meeting…?”

Oikawa winked and gave a two-fingered salute, which made Iwaizumi roll his eyes. “It’s not mandatory. Your Commander has you covered.”

Bokuto beamed, and Keiji’s like of Oikawa rose by a few points. “Thanks, Oikawa!”

“Yes, my generosity knows no bounds,” Oikawa answered blithely, already steering Iwaizumi outside. “Hey, Shimizu!”

Bokuto and Keiji were once again the only two people left in the room. Bokuto turned to Keiji, his uncertainty visibly bubbling up behind his bravado.

“Do you want me to show you around?” Bokuto hedged. “It’s pretty cool, I think, but, I mean, if you don’t want to…”

“Aren’t you tired?” Keiji asked.

Bokuto shrugged with one shoulder. “A little, but…this is more important. But only if you want, of course…”

Keiji kept his grip on Bokuto’s hand firm. “I’m interested to see where you work, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto grinned. It was quickly becoming Keiji’s favourite sight.

Bokuto towed him throughout the campus, which was much larger than appeared at first glance. Frankly, Keiji couldn’t make head or tail of most of what Bokuto told him—there were only so many explanations Keiji could ask for before confounding both himself and Bokuto.

It was…remarkably similar to speaking to Bokuto over the phone. Keiji didn’t find himself hesitating in conversation; everything flowed as smoothly as it ever did. They strolled through the grounds, hand-in-hand, skirting sleek buildings and alien structures (of which Bokuto explained the functions, and Keiji could not retain knowledge of).

He caught himself watching Bokuto more than the tour; Bokuto’s eyes were alight, his face shone in the sun, and he spoke with a confident ardor that had Keiji following his every word despite never needing to know most of it. 

The cyclone of emotions that had writhed in Keiji’s chest ever since he first spoke to Bokuto—the loneliness, the joy, the fear, the infinitesimal hope—began to settle into something calmer. Something more whole.

He took a picture of a diagram hanging next to a display of—something related to spectroscopy and ions.

_To: Kenma_

_[IMG_45066.jpg] (9:57 a.m.)_

_Give that to your boyfriend (9:58 a.m.)_

They rerouted back to the front of the campus, where they found Iwaizumi and Oikawa, the latter now changed into a shirt and sweatpants, loading things into a car. Oikawa waved an arm in the air.

“Bokuto!” he shouted, because they were a few meters away. “Sasaki-san wants to talk to you really quick! Everything’s okay,” he added at Bokuto’s worried look, and continued, “We’ll wait with Akaashi-kun!”

Bokuto turned to him, eyebrows furrowed, and Keiji nodded. He mourned the loss of Bokuto’s hand locked with his own, but didn’t let it show as he approached Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

“Why so formal, Akaashi-kun? We’re friends~”

“Tooru. Shut up,” Iwaizumi said flatly. He turned to Keiji. “How are you getting home? Another taxi?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Keiji admitted. “Probably the train.”

“We’ll probably drop Bokuto-kun off at his place. He’d probably let you come along.” Oikawa examined his cuticles and gave Keiji a sly look.

“That’d be up to him,” Keiji answered, calmly.

“True, but I know he’d never refuse you,” Oikawa said sweetly. “He cares a lot about the people he loves. You seem like a good man, Akaashi-kun, I’d hate to be wrong about that.”

Keiji stared back, incredulous, but Oikawa didn’t look fazed. Iwaizumi just grimaced.

He couldn’t help but feel a flash of envy for these people who knew Bokuto so well, which he almost instantly stamped down, mortified at his own behaviour. It was fruitless angst; he had Bokuto here, now, and was perfectly equipped to get to know him himself.

There were soon footsteps behind him and Bokuto said, “Hey! What’s going on?” He was carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder, and yawned loudly when he reached.

“Bokuto-san, you need to rest,” Keiji chided.

Bokuto frowned. “Where are you going to go? Home?”

Keiji didn’t want to leave, though he knew it would be for the best, and he certainly didn’t want to cement the slight disappointment in Bokuto’s eyes, so he was at a loss for what to say. “I suppose so. I don’t want to impose on your…health.”

“You wouldn’t impose,” Bokuto muttered. He caught Keiji’s eye and lifted a smile. “You could come see my apartment. It’s a pretty cool place, if I do say so myself.”

“You should go, Akaashi-kun,” Oikawa supplemented, leaning against his car. “Someone should make sure this guy actually gets some sleep.”

Oikawa, Keiji decided, was a meddlesome nuisance, but an occasionally helpful meddlesome nuisance.

“I’d love to,” he told Bokuto, who looked remarkably energized by that statement.

They loaded into Iwaizumi’s car and drove not to far to a street lined with apartment complexes. Bokuto and Keiji were dropped off, with Keiji being made to promise that they’d meet again, and then Iwaizumi and Oikawa set off.

Bokuto hefted his duffel bag and looked up. “Home sweet home,” he murmured, “I haven’t seen this place in a year.”

Keiji tensed reflexively as Bokuto slid their hands together, but when Bokuto started to pull away, he tangled their fingers decisively. He’d be damned if he was going to let his instinctual wariness ruin what had been a near-perfect day so far.

It was a cozy building, not particularly clean or contemporary like Keiji may have been expecting. They rode an elevator to the fifth floor and Bokuto led him down the hall, to the very last door. It was unassuming, grey-brown with bits of paint flecking off, but Bokuto gazed at it with reverent eyes.

“I missed this place so much,” Bokuto breathed. He turned to Keiji with that same reverent look. “I’m really happy that I’m coming back to it with you.”

Keiji couldn’t control his blush, and looked away. “Me too,” he said.

Bokuto unlocked the door, and they stepped inside. It was larger than Keiji’s, only just. It had a vaguely bohemian look, with blues and yellows emblazoned over creamy whites. The two sofas were striped with these three colours, and anywhere else it may have looked gaudy, but it fit seamlessly with this apartment.

The bag tumbled off Bokuto’s shoulders and landed with a hard sound, which Bokuto didn’t seem to mind as he flopped onto one sofa. A cloud of dust rose in the air, and Bokuto sneezed.

“I think you need to dust,” Keiji commented, toeing his shoes off.

Bokuto huffed. “I can deal with dust. If I don’t eat right now I will die.” To prove the point, his stomach growled loudly.

Keiji raised his eyebrows. “Do you even have food here.”

“I have instant ramen.” Bokuto sat up and gave Keiji an apologetic look. “I’m kind of a bad host right now; I really have nothing but instant ramen and water.”

“That’s fine,” Keiji said. “Do you want me to cook? You’ve had a long journey.” Which was an understatement.

“No, no, no!” Bokuto sprang to his feet and moved to Keiji’s side, steering him farther into the apartment before backing off. He looked a bit awkward, which manifested in an endearingly flustered expression. “Make yourself at home.”

Bokuto scampered into the kitchen. Keiji took the opportunity to survey his surroundings; you could tell much about a man by the place he lives in.

A small television was perched on a pale, wooden TV stand. There was an ample amount of decorations, on the walls and on spare surfaces, and on closer inspection, most of these were framed pictures: photos of Bokuto with who were clearly his parents, photos of Bokuto’s adolescence, more recent photos with friends. There were quite a few with Oikawa and Shimizu, as well as others who Keiji could only assume were coworkers, judging by the JAXA logos adorning their clothes.

Keiji asked for direction to the bathroom, and while inside, he found a half-used pack of electrostatic cloth; on an impulse, he grabbed it.

He had just finished dusting off the breakfast table and the more reachable shelves when Bokuto entered, holding two steaming bowls.

“You’re dusting!” Bokuto said, hurrying forward to put down the bowls.

“Sorry,” Keiji said, folding the cloth and feeling rather self-conscious. “I didn’t mean to—”

“What? I’m not mad about it!” Bokuto smiled, and Keiji felt less like he needed to bolt. “I just don’t want you to have to—if it’s too dirty, I’m sorry, you don’t have to—”

Keiji cursed mentally, and quickly said, “It’s not too dirty for me, it’s just—it’s not healthy. For your lungs.”

He chanced a glance at Bokuto, which he regretted immediately, because Bokuto’s face was warm and pleased, and that flustered Keiji more than anything. He cleared his throat. “Food?”

“Oh—yeah!” Bokuto gestured him over to the table. “It’s not much, but I can make more, if you want.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Keiji said, even as he sat and recited his thanks for the food.

Bokuto inhaled the ramen and a cup of water, forcing Keiji to remind him to eat slowly or he’d invite a stomachache. Bokuto _listened_ , thankfully, and their meal was held in a silence that Keiji couldn’t believe was so comfortable with a man he met just a few hours ago.

Bokuto let out an impressive yawn when he finished his food, and blinked blearily.

“You should sleep, Bokuto-san,” Keiji said, trying not to sound too stern.

“I don’t want to kick you out just to sleep,” Bokuto bemoaned.

“I’m not leaving just let,” Keiji said. But Bokuto already looked half asleep where he sat, and Keiji had heard enough about rehabilitation in the upcoming weeks to know that Bokuto needed to keep up his strength. “I can stay with you, if you’d like.”

It was maybe a rash thing to offer, and Keiji would have played it off as a joke if that would be at all believable, coming from him.

Bokuto just blushed and said, “I’m not going to make you sleep with me because I’m needy.”

“You can’t refuse all your needs just to please me,” Keiji said disapprovingly, and continued in a softer voice, “I’m not going to make you lay with me just so you can sleep. I wouldn’t have offered if I minded.” He took a moment to appreciate how in the past year, Bokuto had become the sole person on the planet Keiji would ever even considering offering this to.

Bokuto peered at him with narrowed eyes. “Really?”

Keiji nodded and forced his face to stay neutral.

Bokuto looked away, blushing more. “Okay.” In a more upbeat tone, he added, “I can show you my bedroom! It’s awesome. And my bed’s super comfortable.”

As Bokuto led him down the hall, Keiji thought wryly that coming out of anyone else’s mouth, Keiji would have suspected that they were trying to proposition him. He was fairly certain that Bokuto would just say so, if that was what he wanted.

Entering Bokuto’s bedroom, Keiji’s spine tingled with jitters in the most ridiculous way. He focused on the bedroom—a large, plush bed without any sheets on, another collection of photographs, and a handful of books and diagrams propped in the corner.

“Look at the view from here.” Bokuto nodded excitedly to the window.

It was beautiful. The balcony, which was connected to the bedroom, looked over a garden-sort of plot, with lush flower beds and gold-leafed trees. Past that was a river or canal of sorts that glittered in the sunlight.

Keiji coerced Bokuto into letting him help put on the bed sheets, and when they finished, the bed looked much more inviting—fluffy, pale blue, and warm.

“Are you going to sleep in your jeans?” Bokuto asked curiously.

Keiji glanced down at himself. “I—suppose so?”

“I can lend you some old sweatpants,” Bokuto said casually, as if Keiji wasn’t having a minor heart attack right that second. “They’re clean, I promise.”

He tossed them to Keiji and didn’t comment as Keiji left the room to change, too tongue-tied to thank Bokuto. He returned feeling five times as self-conscious before—it was reaching dangerous amounts. He would have a system overload.

He nearly did when he approached the bed, where Bokuto was stretched out, eyes-half closed. He had left a considerate half-bed’s space for Keiji, though Keiji could only really bring himself to curl up at the top corner, feet hanging off the edge.

“If it’s weird you can leave,” Bokuto mumbled, on the edge of sleep.

“It’s not weird,” Keiji said, and because Keiji was a man of conviction, he slid down to prove how not-weird it was. “Go to sleep.”

Keiji stayed curled up, his upper body reclined on the pillow and his legs drawn up as a buffer between himself and Bokuto. It was bizarre and nerve-wracking, and he could hardly breathe with how aware he was of his every movement, every sensation against his skin, the softness of the sweatpants and the solid weight of the blanket. But he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not as he watched Bokuto’s eyes flutter shut and his chest fall into soft, rhythmic breaths.

When Bokuto was asleep, Keiji could have extracted himself from the sheets, but he didn’t. He instead found his muscles slowly relaxing and his body lulled to sleep by the warm weight next to him.

He was jerked out of sleep, an hour later, to a text from Kenma asking where he was. He picked up his phone, careful not to disturb Bokuto, who was wedged against his side (a difficult feat, since he was bigger than Keiji), and texted Kenma back, telling him that Keiji wouldn’t return just yet; not for some time still.

Keiji didn’t ever think he would get used to his house being full to the brim with noise, but he supposed that, like practically every part of Keiji’s life these days, had underwent drastic alteration.

Bokuto had taken an earnest fascination to Kenma as soon as they met (post-second date, when Keiji unlocked the door to his apartment and discovered Kenma playing Breath of the Wild in total darkness). Kenma took a while to warm up to him, but the two were practically friends, now; they handled each other’s violently different personalities remarkably well, which privately Keiji was immensely grateful for.

Kuroo and Bokuto became best of friends almost instantly, which was both amusing and irritating to Keiji. _Those_ two together were a menace, with personalities fit together just right to give Keiji a headache. Because of this, they had taken to calling each other their “soulmates”, a habit which brought matching dry looks to Kenma and Keiji’s faces.

Kenma sat at the far left of the couch, curled up neatly, while Bokuto sat on the armchair and Kuroo, the floor. Keiji sat next to Kenma, largely forgotten as the other three engaged in battle via Mario Kart. Kuroo and Bokuto were loudly and valiantly losing to Kenma’s deadly concentration, though they seemed to be enjoying it all the same. Keiji was content to watch over his friend and the fools, not needing to answer the question of how well he fared in video games.

Boxes lined the walls, two stacks divided by the front door. The walls themselves were bare, no trace of its occupants who had steadily filled them over the past three years.

Said occupants and said occupants’ soulmates were enjoying one last marathon on the gaming console before it was packed away and carted away with its owner to its new home.

“I’m going to get water,” Keiji said to absolutely no one. He made for the kitchen amidst cries from Bokuto and Kuroo as they lost for the nth time.

He was unsurprised when Bokuto came in a few moments later, with narrowed eyes and a pout.

“I’m sick of losing to that dude,” he muttered, and traipsed towards Keiji.

Bokuto was an adept engineer and an expert in space flight, and also was a very sore loser. This did not stop him from challenging Kenma to PvP matches at every given opportunity. Keiji had to admire his commitment.

“It’ll have to be packed away, soon,” Keiji said, after he swallowed a mouthful of water.

Bokuto put his hands on his hips. “You’re very okay with leaving this place forever.”

Keiji shrugged. “It was a good home. But I think I’m heading to someplace much better.”

Bokuto’s eyes brightened at that, so Keiji could congratulate himself with another job well done. He moved forward to brace his hands against the counter top that Keiji was propped against, so that, with his height, they were only a few inches apart.

He frowned. Keiji controlled the urge to kiss it off his face. “I hate that you’re doing this alone.”

“I won’t be alone.” Which was mostly true. Officially, Keiji was set to move along with all the stuff he hadn’t moved yet tomorrow. As of tomorrow, he and Bokuto would share an apartment. Five days after that, Bokuto would take off from Earth.

It pained Keiji to think about it. He didn’t say anything, though; Bokuto knew.

“Promise you’ll call Iwaizumi if you need anything,” Bokuto said.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa lived down the street from Bokuto’s apartment. The best part about this was that Iwaizumi was great; the worst part was that Oikawa and Kuroo meeting became an occupational hazard. The first time this happened, Oikawa made the mistake of trying his wiles on Kenma, which resulted in somewhat of a Mexican standoff—between Kuroo’s vicious smile and Kenma’s unimpressed gaze, Keiji had never seen Oikawa back down so fast.

Very easily, Oikawa and Kuroo could have been enemies, but they unfortunately realized that they’d be stronger as friends.

“I promise, Koutarou,” Keiji said. He pressed his fingers over the collar of Bokuto’s shirt, barely touching skin. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Bokuto grumbled, before leaning in for a kiss. Keiji happily obliged.

“I’m looking forward to this,” Keiji said, ignoring the tinge of warmth at the admission. Vulnerability was a work in progress. “So I’ll be fine. You flying out to space worries me more.”

Moving in with Bokuto, he thought, did assuage some of the loneliness, because Bokuto’s presence would always surround him. It would be _their_ space, together, and no distance into the atmosphere would change that.

On the other hand, Bokuto’s takeoff, well…about a month after Bokuto landed, Keiji happened across a space documentary that detailed the disintegration of some space shuttle upon reentry, wherein all seven astronauts died. He was not prone to panic, but had practically broke the remote in his haste to change the channel.

He carefully didn’t think about it, because, although he didn’t tell Bokuto about that incident, Bokuto had reassured him a thousand ways that everything would be fine. Keiji trusted him, if nothing else.

“I’m really excited, too.” Bokuto’s eyes shone gold. “I really love you, Keiji, you know?”

“I know. I love you, too,” Keiji replied, and buried his smile in Bokuto’s shoulder.

They returned to the living room at Kuroo’s caterwauling, where a one-sided debate on what to order in for dinner was taking place. Keiji left it to Bokuto, who enthusiastically took Kuroo’s bait into the non-argument, and sat back next to Kenma.

Kenma said, “We should pack this up,” and nodded towards the console.

“Is that the last of everything?”

“Yes. We’re ready.” Kenma gave Keiji his rare smile, so Keiji knew that Kenma, like himself, must be feeling an internal bubbling of anticipation. “I’ll never have a flatmate as good as you again.”

Kuroo wasn’t listening, but Keiji pictured his exaggerated offense at that statement, and then Bokuto’s when he said, “I agree.”

Kuroo and Bokuto settled on pizza, which Keiji thought was uncreative, but he let them have it; they’d pick something that tasted good and a buffet of sides. He was content to watch them deliberate over toppings. Tonight was for relaxation and celebration. Tomorrow, they would be ready to let go and go on.

He settled back to watch the dinner debate unfold in front of him.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Pretty soon after I started this fic, I was struck with inspiration for a longer series in this ‘verse, namely two sequels which would actually be...prequels of sorts, and then one that’s an actual sequel. If that sounds like something you’d enjoy, please let me know, because support and encouragement makes it all the more likely that I actually finish my fics.
> 
> This fic was a STRUGGLE, because it relied so heavily on emotional struggles rather than concrete events occurring to the characters. I think I managed to get it to a place where I’m satisfied with it, and it definitely helped me grow as a writer.
> 
> Akaashi was really fun to write because his formal attitude meshes well with my inclination to flourish my vocabulary. Bokuto was a bigger struggle because I needed to figure out how to depict his mood swings and intense emotions while still making it plausible that he was approved to go out into orbit. I also had a lot of fun with the side-relationships. The kuroken is mostly just me indulging myself.
> 
> You can contact me on Tumblr **@killjoycatlady** or on Twitter **@killjoycatlady_** (I've been trying to put links in but they refuse to work).


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